The Emotional Education Of Edward Cullen
by Picklewinkle
Summary: Edward Cullen is brilliant and complicated but also closed off and socially inept. Can Bella teach him how to tap into and understand his emotions through an unorthodox experiment without breaking her own heart in the process? AH.
1. Newton Is A Douchebag To The Nth Degree

DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

WARNING: This chapter contains an attempted sexual assault.

I wanted to thank the mods at Project Team Beta for their work. It's a wonderful service if you're in need of a beta. Thank you to my betas Scorp112 and SweetVenom69 for their beta work on this chapter.

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**EPOV**

I hated to leave the library early, but it was necessary. I had an SAT prep course at the University of Washington in the morning, and the drive would take more than three hours. The free course was arranged by the high school trying to entice more of its senior students to get a post-secondary education. Though I didn't really need help with the test, I also knew I couldn't be too prepared. I took my schoolwork seriously and my efforts were reflected on my transcripts. They were impeccable. Somehow I'd always understood what my mind was capable of. Of course, if I hadn't realized it on my own, my fellow students were all too happy to point it out to me.

I was well acquainted with the fact that I didn't fit in. The teasing and labels had long ago become background noise. Others in my year were interested in football games, school dances and who was dating whom; I preferred Bunsen burners, chemical reactions and the periodic table. These things were logical, they were tools to help me achieve my goals, and they were so much simpler to befriend than anyone I'd ever met at Forks High. That's not to say I was a social outcast; it was just easier to be by myself for the most part.

The library was only a half block from the school. Rather than chance finding a spot in the library's tiny parking lot, I'd left my car in the lot at school and walked the short distance. Stepping out into the misty evening air, I regretted the decision immediately. I hadn't brought my raincoat or umbrella, and I was not in the mood to get wet. It was short-sighted to think the dry weather would last. I knew better.

I trudged along, irritated by the splashing of my soles against the wet pavement, longing for the solace of my dry car. When I got to the lot, I noticed only one other car in the far corner to where I was parked. I normally wouldn't have given it a second thought but the voices caught my attention.

"Mike, don't."

I gritted my teeth instinctively at the name. My hatred for Mike Newton developed almost instantly when we met. He was self-absorbed, slow-witted and rude for starters, but his worst trait of all was that he preyed on other people's shortcomings to make himself feel better. No one was off limits to him, and his popularity confounded me. Why anyone wanted to spend time with him, let alone date him, was beyond me. I suppose his boyish good looks took him into a girl's good graces, but his charm deteriorated next to his atrocious attitude. I'd never met a more conceited person in all my life. Even still, practically every girl in our class had dated him or wanted to, and some of them multiple times. I couldn't pretend to understand the mind of a seventeen-year-old girl but the fact that they just kept coming back for more left me astonished.

"Mike, I said no."

It was the tone in the girl's voice that made me heedful. I was sure Mike had held many girls in a similar position, but this one didn't seem to care for it. I cautiously began to walk towards the car. I didn't recognize the female voice and it was too dark to see anything but silhouettes. Not that it mattered who she was. If she was in trouble, she was in trouble.

"I mean it. Get off me!"

Her voice was louder and more insistent now. I concentrated on it trying to pinpoint to whom it belonged. I could see two figures in the front seat of the car. Mike appeared to have the girl pinned against the door with his body.

"Relax, baby. I'm not going to hurt you."

Disgusting. If I could tell from fifty feet away that the girl didn't want him to touch her, surely he could tell with his mouth pressed up against her ear. I was unsure what to do, but I knew I had to do something.

"I don't want you to do anything to me," the girl hissed.

I bit my lip to stifle the laugh that threatened; Mike's ego wasn't going to like hearing that. I felt a kinship with this girl, whomever she was. Our opinions of Mike seemed to be simpatico.

"I'm going to make everything all better."

"I don't want you to. Get away from me!"

I was ten feet from the car now and still not sure what I could do to help, if anything. I could see the girl struggling to maneuver from underneath Mike's body and it made me angry. I didn't understand how he could ignore the girl's pleas, let alone disregard the way she tried to push him off of her.

"Stop it, please," she begged. I could hear fear in her voice now.

Acting on pure instinct, I yanked the driver's side door open and grabbed Mike by the back of the shirt. His hold on the girl was so strong that he dragged her along with him for a second before finally letting her go. She cried out in pain as I hauled Mike to the ground. Her head must have hit the window when her body recoiled from his hold. I quickly bent into the car to check on her.

"You fucking asshole," Mike yelled. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

I heard him scrambling behind me.

"Are you okay," I asked, offering my hand to the tangle of brunette curls that greeted me, their owner's back to me as she worked to get the passenger door open.

If she answered me, I didn't hear her. Mike had my arm and was pulling me out of the car. Before I could get my bearings, he turned me and punched me in the stomach. I staggered backwards until my body hit the car.

"This is none of your fucking business," Mike hollered, pushing me away from the door so he could get back in. I knew I couldn't let him. I had to give the girl time to get out. I moved towards him, shifting my weight to my left foot as I stepped forward and threw a punch squarely at his nose. A searing pain shot through my knuckles and blood began to pour from Mike's nostrils.

"You dickhead! I think you broke my nose." His hands flew to his face and I took the opportunity to look for the girl. I found her beside the passenger side door, crawling on her hands and knees on the asphalt, a mess of long brown hair and sobs.

"Are you alright?" I inquired, dropping down on to my knee to check for myself. She finally raised her head to look at me, and I recognized her instantly. "Bella?"

She nodded diminutively and then dropped her eyes from mine.

"I need to lay down," she mumbled, pressing her cheek to the wet pavement and closing her eyes.

I heard Mike slam the door and rev the engine of his car. I grabbed Bella and pulled her away from the car to be pre-emptive.

"You'll pay for this, Cullen!" Mike threatened through the rolled down window. "You need to learn to mind your own fucking business. She's not even worth it; she doesn't put out. Not that it matters. If she wouldn't sleep with me, she sure as hell wouldn't fuck you."

And with that he slammed the car into gear and pulled away, the tires squealing one final irritating insult at us.

**~8~**

**BPOV**

"Let me go," I muttered. Even though I hadn't said it very convincingly, something told me Edward Cullen had no intention of hurting me.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

_Hadn't I already told him I was fine? I thought I had._

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you crawling? Did something happen to your legs?"

_Why was I crawling?_ I couldn't remember. I sat down and slid my legs out in front of me. They looked perfectly normal.

"No, my legs are fine."

"Here. Let me help you up."

A large hand with long, thin fingers stretched out towards me. I reached out to take it. His skin was cool against mine.

_I wonder if he plays the piano._

"Yes, why?"

I blushed. _Did I say that out loud?_

"Yes, you did. Are you sure you're okay, Bella?"

I looked down at his fingers, curled thoughtfully around mine, and let him pull me up, forgetting that I should be embarrassed for speaking my unedited thoughts aloud.

"I bet you play well with those long fingers. Mine are too short, and I stumble over the keys too much."

"I play well enough, but I would attribute it to the hours of practice that were required by my mother more than the length of my fingers. And you haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"You're acting strangely."

"How would you know? And that's not a question!"

I knew I sounded defensive and had no right to feel that way. Mike was the one who tried to hurt me, not Edward.

"You were crawling on your hands and knees, and now you're talking about my fingers. You don't find that behavior strange after what just happened to you?"

"Nothing happened, and no, I don't find it strange per se."

"So you'd normally hold a stranger's hand in a dark parking lot after Mike Newton tried to force himself on you?"

I realized I was long past the point of propriety for letting go of his hand, but I liked the way it made me feel. And I didn't want to talk about Mike.

"You're not a stranger."

"A relative stranger then."

"Your hand is bleeding," I noted distractedly.

"I know," he muttered, staring down at our joined hands. I wondered if the strange look on his face had more to do with the fact that I was still holding his hand than the blood that was gushing from his knuckles.

"You should get that looked at," I suggested quietly, dropping his hand and stepping back.

Without Edward to lean on, I felt unsteady on my feet.

"Did he hurt you?" Edward asked through gritted teeth.

The action struck me odd. After all, I meant nothing to Edward, but Mike obviously did.

"You don't like him, do you?" I hedged.

The dizziness was getting worse, and I was overcome with tiredness. Something wasn't right. Better than falling on my face, I just sat down on the pavement.

"No, I don't. Can you say you do after what he tried to do to you?"

"I don't feel quite as warmly towards him after this evening's skirmish," I admitted, looking down. Things around me were starting to spin. "Although I wasn't exactly hot for him before that."

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the spinning and heard Edward snicker. When I opened my eyes, his face was only a few inches from mine, his eyes looking worriedly into mine.

"Did he hurt you?"

"I don't feel very well."

"Are you going to be sick?"

His voice sounded far away and echoey.

"I'll just lay down here."

The coolness of the ground against my skin made things stop spinning. I closed my eyes and let the relief wash over me.

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A/N: Thank you for checking out my new story. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. I'd love to hear what you think so click the review button.


	2. Personal Confessions In The ER

DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

I wanted to thank everyone at Project Team Beta. I can't say enough good things about the service. It's an invaluable tool and I'm so thankful to have them to work with. A big thank you to my betas for their assistance on this chapter, Angelz1114577 and LightStarDusting.

Thanks for the reviews, guys! It's so great to hear from so many of you that I recognize from Out of Choices and also to see some new names. I appreciate the support.

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**EPOV**

"Don't lay down here. Let me help you get home. My car is just over there."

I pointed toward my car, but Bella had already lain face down. Her skin looked inordinately pale against the dark pavement.

"Take my hand, Bella. I'll help you up."

I offered her my hand, but she didn't respond. I knelt down and brushed the hair from her face.

"Bella, can you hear me?"

Her eyelids fluttered softly, and eventually her eyes opened halfway. There was no recognition in her gaze. In fact, there wasn't much of anything but a blank stare. I had my suspicions about what was going on, but I was trying not to jump to conclusions. It had been a long time since Bella Swan was my friend. I had no idea what sort of person she'd become since then. What I did know was that it wouldn't be right to leave her lying on the pavement of the school parking lot in the middle of the night, especially given her erratic behavior.

"Bella, something is wrong with you. I need to get you to the hospital. Can you walk?"

Her face twisted in confusion as if my words were nonsensical, more evidence that supported my hunch. A few seconds later, her eyes closed again, and I knew I was on my own getting her to the ER.

"Bella, I'm going to pull you up, but you have to help me by walking."

I gently persuaded her hands out from underneath her and pulled her up to her feet. She staggered toward me with an enormous lurch, wobbling unsteadily one way and then the other, before stilling her body against mine in silence. Her eyes were still closed. She didn't seem to have any clue about what was going on around her.

"What did he do to you?" I mumbled under my breath, awkwardly shifting Bella to my right side so I would be able help her walk.

She slipped her arm around my waist, tottering along beside me while I supported her body and urged her forward. I tried not to think of the irony of the situation; it was absurdly familiar, even if the circumstances were drastically different. Once I had Bella in my car, I started for Forks Community Hospital.

**~8~**

"Yes, I understand you perfectly, but I don't _know _her health information."

"I understand, Sir, but we can't attend to your friend without proper paperwork." She shoved the clipboard back at me with an indifferent expression. "You'll have to fill these out for her if she can't do it herself."

I glanced over at Bella, slumped sideways in a wheelchair, lips parted and softly snoring, her chest rising and falling shallowly in her slumber.

"Fine," I grumbled, palming the clipboard in annoyance.

If they wanted completed forms, I'd give them completed forms. Whether or not they'd be correct was another story. I wheeled Bella over to a quiet corner of the waiting room and began the questionnaire.

**Name: Bella Marie Swan**_. _

_Or would that be Isabella?_ _Isabella, I guess._

I scratched out the given name I'd written and smirked as I wrote in her full name, remembering how much she used to hate it.

**Address: 321 Main Street, Forks, WA, 98331**_._

The truth was I'd never been to Bella's house. I didn't have a clue where she lived. I used that address whenever I had to fill out anything online. It was the address of the post office.

**Phone number:**

I'd felt Bella's cell phone against my thigh while I helped her walk. I retrieved it from her pocket and added the number to the form.

**Next of kin: Mr. Swan.**

I knew he still worked for the Forks Police Department. I had no sure knowledge what had become of Bella's mother, only rumors.

I tripped my way through the rest of the form, making up information as I went along and using the scant amount I did know to give the best picture I could of Bella's condition. The ER was not very busy, and we were escorted to one of the examination rooms within an hour. The nurse was kind enough to help me get Bella up on to the table. I took the chair adjacent to it and waited for the doctor.

"Where are we?" Bella rasped softly, squinting at the bright white light that shone down at her.

"We're at the hospital," I explained. "The doctor should be in to check on you soon."

"Why do I have to see a doctor?"

"Your behavior is erratic. You're unaware of your surroundings half the time; the other half, you're sleeping."

"Okay."

She dropped back to sleep almost immediately. Bella took my account of the situation more easily than I expected. She used to be more stubborn.

Dr. Brock came in a few minutes later. I described the predicament I'd found Bella in, as well as her behavior and symptoms, and waited patiently while he scribbled down notes on Bella's chart.

"I'm going to order some blood work for her. I don't think she'll have to be admitted, but the tests should confirm that."

He didn't give me any more information than that, but I was betting he had the same suspicions as I did. I always knew Mike was an asshole, but this was low, even for him.

The nurse was very gentle with Bella while drawing her blood, but the needle prick woke her, nevertheless. The nurse tried to assure her that she was fine, but I could sense the turmoil radiating from her. I stepped to the foot of the table and put a hand lightly on Bella's ankle.

"Still don't like needles?" I wondered rhetorically.

Bella smiled shyly at me and shook her head. The nurse took advantage of the distraction and quickly finished up. Bella waited for the nurse to leave the room before she spoke.

"Why are they taking blood?" she inquired, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

"The doctor didn't really say. All he would confirm was that he wouldn't know if he'd have to admit you until he had the test results back."

"Oh."

"Did you want me to call your mother or father?" I offered.

Bella shook her head, a light blush on her cheeks. It was good to see some color back on her face, even if it was short-lived.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's late, and I thought your parents might be worried, or that you might prefer one of them to be here instead of me."

"My father wouldn't come anyway," she mumbled, a forlorn expression on her face as she looked away from me. "Since my mother left him, he hasn't really been there for me. I don't think he likes to deal with me because I remind him too much of her."

She paused for a moment, glancing up at me before she offered further explanation.

"I haven't seen my mother in forever. She's always made it clear that a baby wasn't in her plans."

The profound sadness in her words was piercing. Her tone was very matter-of-fact, but I knew that her mother's absence had to hurt her, at least it would have hurt the girl I once knew.

"So my dad has spent the last eight years loving her and waiting for her to come back when it's clear she has no intention of doing so. I don't fault him for it though. It's beautiful that he loves her so much; that he's dedicated his entire life to her whether or not she reciprocates."

Bella's eyes darted around the room while she spoke, like she was embarrassed to admit what she was telling me. I didn't understand why she was telling me in the first place. It all seemed rather confidential.

"I think that's the only way to truly love someone, to give yourself over to them body and soul, come what may," she concluded, looking at me expectantly.

"You don't think it's possible to love someone with less investment than everything?" I asked, a little shocked by her sweeping generalization.

"Sure it is, if you're looking for ordinary love. I want something more. I want passion and devotion. I want to be adored."

"And that's what you were looking for tonight with Mike?"

It was a blunt assumption, but I couldn't help my curiosity.

"Not at all," she disputed, shaking her head emphatically. "I could never love someone like Mike. He's too shallow and self-centered. I only agreed to go out with him as a favor to a friend. She thought I could talk him into taking her out. It wasn't even supposed to be a strict date. We were working on that group project for Spanish, and it got late. He suggested we pick up burgers and then offered me a ride home. The minute I closed the door of his car, he pinned me and began his little song and dance trying to get me to sleep with him. Like I'd give up my virginity to him!" she said, snickering.

"You're still a virgin?" I blurted, surprised.

"Yeah," she confessed with an indifferent shrug. "It's not that I'm not interested in sex; I'm all kinds of curious about it… But to give yourself to someone like that, so intimately I mean, there has to be one hundred percent trust, and I think for that kind of trust, love has to be involved. That's where the problem is."

"Problem?"

"When I fall in love, it will be for forever, just like it was for my dad. How many guys do you know that are looking for _forever_? Not too many," she announced decidedly, and with a hint of sadness in her tone she continued. "Besides, I just get the feeling that love wasn't meant to be a part of my life."

Her thoughts were preposterous. She'd never been in love and had no grounds to base her proclamations on.

"It's not as if you can predict when you'll fall in love," I retorted. "Love is just a hormonal reaction in our bodies that our minds turn into something more. There's always the chance you'll find the right chemistry with someone."

"It's not just about chemistry," she countered passionately. "It's about the choice to surrender to the other person. It goes beyond trust. It's a tangible connection that transcends understanding."

"That's absurd."

"I didn't expect you to agree," she assured me with a laugh.

"You're not being logical."

"Love isn't based in logic, Edward, and that's why I'd never expect you to understand it. Love has no strict rules."

Her tone was good-natured, and as she spoke, she reached for the ice pack that I'd left on the chair and laid it gently on my knuckles. I flinched a little as the cold spread across my swollen flesh. Bella looked up at me with sympathetic eyes.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little," I admitted.

"You should get it looked at. You might need stitches."

"Maybe," I mumbled.

"I'm guessing you liked punching him," she said in a quiet voice.

"I've never liked Mike. Finding him forcing himself on you didn't exactly change my opinion of him for the better."

"So you _did_ like punching him."

The tiny grin on her face gave away her satisfaction. She was every bit as happy that I hit him as I was.

"It wasn't the worst thing I've ever done."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "What was?"

My mind flashed back to the day my father died, to the guilt I'd harbored for so many years. I'd never told anyone what happened that day, but before I could decide whether or not to share it with Bella, she interrupted my thoughts.

"I bet you've never done anything terrible. You're a good guy, Edward. You'll never convince me otherwise," she announced with a yawn.

This was her longest period of consciousness since I'd found her in the parking lot. I wasn't surprised she was tired again.

"You should sleep, Bella," I suggested softly, crossing the room to sit down.

Bella lay down on the table again, rolling on to her side and curling her legs up tightly.

"You can go if you want to," she mumbled. "You don't have to stay with me."

"I know, but you're in no shape to handle Mike if he shows up, and I wasn't doing anything anyway."

Her eyes stayed closed, but she smiled at my reply.

"Always my protector," she murmured, drifting off moments later.

Time seemed to drag while I waited for the test results. I was tired and impatient, and Bella's restless sleep was distracting. I wondered if she was dreaming or perhaps reliving what happened with Mike, and it made me uncomfortable to watch her disquiet. I was pacing the floor by the time the doctor finally returned to check on her.

Dr. Brock roused Bella gently and tried to explain what her next few days would be like. She didn't seem to be processing much of what he was saying, blinking slowly and continuously at him while he spoke. She laid her head back down as soon as he stepped away from the table. I couldn't tell if she was sleeping or not.

Dr. Brock turned and addressed me directly.

"Has she had many wakeful periods?"

"Not really. She had one extended period of wakefulness but has been asleep most of the time."

"That's good," he noted casually, recording something on her chart. "She needs her rest."

"Was she drugged?" I asked bluntly, sensing Dr. Brock would need some prompting to open up.

"Yes, gamma hydroxy butyrate, GHB. We knew what to look for after you described what happened."

"I suspected as much."

"We tested her blood alcohol and the test results were negative. Given without alcohol, the effects of the drug don't last much longer than three to six hours. She'll need extra rest for a few days, but there will be no lasting side effects." He smiled politely at me. "She's lucky you found her before she was sexually assaulted. In any case, she won't need to be admitted. She's all set to go. Expect some flu like symptoms to appear - nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. Because the chemical doesn't let her brain rest, she's going to feel as if she has a hangover for a few days. Watch for a headache, possibly sensitivity to light and noise, lethargy… she'll probably spend most of her time asleep."

I thanked him and waited for him to leave the room, anxious to get Bella home safely so my responsibility would be finished. I shook her lightly to wake her.

"Bella, it's time to go home now."

She smiled and stretched before opening her eyes to look at me.

"Your eyes are pretty, like emeralds."

"I guess the drug still hasn't worn off yet," I muttered, shaking my head to displace my discomfort.

"Drug?" she asked, shifting unsteadily and sitting herself up.

"I'll explain it later. Right now, we have to get you home."

"Why? I don't really want to go home. There's no one there. Can't I just go to your house?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh, okay," she stammered, struggling to keep the rejection off her face. "Maybe it would be easier if I called a cab? You probably need to get going. You've already done so much."

"It's fine. I can drive you home."

"If you're sure…"

I offered my hand to help her down off the examination table. She took it without a word, holding tightly to it while she shuffled to my car. The car ride began just as silently. I drove toward the north end of town, hoping she would tell me which way to go before I had to inquire. I waited until the last possible moment to ask her.

"I apologize, Bella. I don't know where you live."

"Willow Avenue, two-oh-one, at the end of the cul-de-sac."

There was something in her voice and in the way she quietly sighed in resignation. It bothered me immensely, although I had no idea why.

Isolated from the busier thoroughfare, her street was dim and deserted.

"Is your street always this dark?"

She didn't respond, just continued to look out the window like she hadn't heard me, or maybe she simply didn't wish to answer my question. I squinted into the darkness searching for the address she'd given me. The house at the end of the block stood alone, its dark silhouette murky against the night sky. There was no porch light on and no lights illuminating the house. No car waited in the driveway, just an old red truck parked at the curb. I glanced over at Bella. She was slumped against the door while her hands clutched mindlessly at the zipper of her hoodie. There was no relief on her face at the sight of home. If anything, she seemed to be a tiny bit sadder. I let the car ease into the curve of the dead end and pulled into the driveway.

"Did you want help getting to the door?" I wondered, shutting off the engine in anticipation of her acceptance.

"No, that's okay. I'll be fine. Thanks for you help tonight. It was very kind of you."

Her tone was determined but she didn't look at me, her eyes fixed on the ground as she spoke.

"Will your dad be home soon?"

She shrugged.

"Not sure."

"Will you be alright by yourself?"

"Of course. No biggie," she assured me, reaching for the door handle.

She turned to look at me once she was out of the car and gave me a small appreciative smile before slamming the door shut. Her hand trailed along the frame of the car, using it for support as she walked toward the house. Her first step without it to lean on was a stagger. I immediately got out of the car to help her.

"I know you said you don't need help, but you seem like you could use some," I said.

I slipped one hand under her elbow to support her and my other arm around her back to guide her. I led her up the stairs and let her lean on me while she searched her pockets for her keys.

"Shit."

"What's wrong?"

"My keys are in my purse, and my purse is in my backpack."

"Where's your backpack?"

"In the trunk of Newton's car. Damn it! I'm so stupid. I never should have trusted him."

"What happened isn't your fault, Bella."

"You can just go, Edward. I'll wait for my dad to come home."

I could tell she was frustrated with the situation.

"Perhaps it would be better if I drove you to the police station to find him?"

"He's not there. He's out fishing with a couple of his buddies."

"Well, I can't leave you here on the porch. You'll freeze to death."

"I'll go sit in my truck."

"Is your truck unlocked?"

"Shit. No, it's locked. Wow, you must think I'm a total fuck-up."

There was so much shame in her eyes when she looked at me, and it was pointless. None of this was her fault. Mike was to blame for everything.

"Come on. We'll go to my house. Tomorrow we can track Newton down and get your backpack from him."

"I don't want you to get into trouble."

"I won't. My mom's out of town for a few days," I admitted.

"Then why didn't you want me to come earlier when I asked you about it?"

"I didn't want to give you the wrong impression."

"And what impression would that be?" she asked with a grin on her face.

"It was a moment of indecision," I muttered. "But that was when you still had a place to stay, that is to say before you locked yourself out of your house."

She giggled quietly.

"For the record, I understand that you were trying to get rid of me earlier, but thanks for not being rude about it."

"It's not that," I lied.

I wasn't sure if I should tell her how awkward interacting with her had made me feel. Would she understand that sometimes I had difficulty relating to people on a personal level, that I didn't always know what to say or what the proper reaction should be?

"It's okay, Edward. I know you didn't sign up for this. If I were you, I'd be sick of hauling my ass around too."

She smiled widely in understanding. Somehow, without ever uttering a word of my discomfort, she understood it implicitly. I smiled back at her, feeling lighter somehow. Maybe the girl I once knew was in there after all.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. Keep it up and keep reviewing too! Your support and feedback are so important.


	3. Your Logic Is Irritating Sometimes

DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

**Project Team Beta** – I can't recommend this group of people with enough enthusiasm. In working with them, I'm learning so much about my writing and how to improve it. These people give their time freely to help authors in this fandom. They all deserve a round of applause. I wanted to single out my betas on this chapter, Scorp112 and CXC, and say thank you to them for their assistance.

Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing the story. Feedback for an author is so important. A number of you pointed out something I overlooked in the plot, which I believe will make the story better when I rectify it, hopefully in chapter 4, so thank you .

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**Chapter 3: Your Logic Is Irritating Sometimes**

**EPOV**

"Edward, you really don't have to give me your bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

I rolled my eyes at her. "No one is sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Why? I don't mind."

"Because you threw up on the couch."

"I did?"

"Yes, twice."

"I'm sorry," she whined remorsefully, obviously embarrassed by what she'd done.

"You said that already."

"I did?"

"Just go to sleep, Bella."

"What if I get sick in your bed?"

"There's a bathroom right there. I'll leave the light on for you."

"What if I don't make it?"

"Let's not focus on that."

"You're very patient," she noted quietly.

I felt anything but patient.

"It's not as if you did this to yourself, and I couldn't leave you on your porch."

"Well, you could have," she pointed out.

"That would make me no better than Newton. I'd like to believe that I have marginally better manners than Mike."

"You do. If you were anything like Mike, you'd have left me in the parking lot." Giving in, Bella slid her body under the covers and then looked up at me meekly. "Did I at least help you clean it up?"

"It's no big deal." In truth, I was glad she passed out after it happened. It was easier to clean up without an audience.

"I'll make it up to you," she mumbled. Her eyes were already closed.

I grabbed a pillow and blanket off the end of the bed and settled onto the floor. I was asleep before I had a chance to decide if I was comfortable.

Bella pervaded every dream I had that night. I was startled awake by a particularly dominating sexual fantasy, bewildered by the way it made me feel and irritated by the fact that I wouldn't get to see how it ended. It wasn't as if a woman had never aroused me before, but I couldn't recall ever enjoying it quite so much. I shook my head, trying to displace the last images of the dream from my mind and determine if I should even be awake. It felt like the middle of the night, but I wasn't certain. I heard a soft murmur come from beside me.

"It's not just a chemical reaction."

I turned my head in the direction of the voice to find Bella sleeping beside me, lazily curled around my hip. It was no wonder she seemed so real in my dreams; the heat from her body permeated my skin. I shifted slightly away from her, trying to figure out what would have made her lie down next to me and praying she hadn't gotten sick in my bed. There was no sign of any problem.

"Bella," I whispered, feeling rude but hoping to wake her in spite of my low volume.

"Mmmm?"

"Why are you sleeping on the floor with me?"

"Sorry," she rasped. "I got sick again and couldn't make it back to the bed."

"So you laid down here with me?" I questioned, hoping the incongruity in her choice would become obvious.

"You seemed so warm, and I didn't want to move anymore."

She saw nothing wrong with her decision, and I didn't know how to dispute her honesty.

"Did you want me to help you back into the bed?"

"No. I'll just sleep right here." She wiggled her body toward mine, settling herself into the crook of my arm.

"But, Bella…"

She didn't answer me. She just nuzzled her face against my shoulder and sighed softly. I was astonished by how quickly she relaxed. She seemed so comfortable, as opposed to the awkwardness that I was feeling. Part of me wanted to move away from her to escape the confusion her actions had caused in me, but the larger part of me wanted to understand it. We weren't much more than acquaintances, certainly nothing intimate. Was Bella this affectionate with everyone in her life?

I looked down at her, almost envious of her tranquil countenance. She was more self-possessed in her sleep than I was fully awake. Her allure was easy to discern. She had a subtle natural beauty that matched the warmth and intensity of her personality, and she exuded an ease that made everyone around her feel comfortable, at least under normal circumstances. Having her in my bedroom, asleep in my arms was definitely not normal, yet I couldn't deny that there was something appealing about it. There was amenity in the connection of our bodies; in the way she melted into me and in the way her heat blossomed against my skin. I even liked the way her hair tickled my arm and nose; it smelled delicious, like coconut and vanilla. No, it wasn't difficult to understand why anyone would be attracted to Bella Swan.

I didn't want to be though. I'd intentionally avoided romantic entanglements. Girls were transparent and often ridiculous, completely unrealistic and idealistic in their expectations. Despite their advances, I found it difficult to relate to them and had little in common with the large majority that crossed my path. Bella was no different than these girls. Her ideas about love were built on romanticized notions about soul mates and forever, and they couldn't have been more unlike mine. Aside from physical gratification, I saw no obvious advantages in a connection between the two of us; yet even realizing this didn't stop me from considering one.

Sleep eluded me for the next while, as I was too aware of the pretty girl resting comfortably against me. The even rhythm of her breathing wreaked havoc on my resolve to ignore her, and I found myself pondering inappropriate things like what her bare skin would feel like against mine. Eventually I succumbed to exhaustion, and then the dreams began again, even more vivid and intense than before. With the way my body reacted to the images in my mind, she may as well have been stroking me. Regardless of what my mind was determined to torture me with, be it sexual domination or simply the idea of a connection to a pretty girl, a cold shower would be the first order of business when I woke up.

**BPOV**

The sunshine woke me, bright and burning against my sensitive eyes. I squeezed them shut and waited motionlessly while the stinging dissipated. A crippling pain shot across my forehead. This was no ordinary headache. I sat up very slowly, but my stomach lurched anyway. My body was not happy about something; that much I understood. I took a few moments to make sure I wasn't going to be sick before I tried to open my eyes again and squinted to block the glare while they adjusted.

There was nothing familiar about my surroundings, but given the fact that I'd woken up next to Edward Cullen, I was assuming I was somewhere in his house. I couldn't remember how I'd gotten here, or why I was still with him.

Truthfully, I couldn't remember much of anything after Edward pulled Mike off of me and punched him. There were hazy images, mostly of Edward, but no distinct memories to help explain why I spent the night sleeping in his arms. Not that I was complaining. There were far worse people to wake up next to. It's just that it would be nice to remember if something happened between us and whether I enjoyed it. Scratch that. _If_ something happened, of course I _enjoyed_ it, it was _Edward Cullen_, but I would like to remember enjoying it.

I was thankful that Edward was still sleeping. My current state of ignorance had me feeling a little self-conscious. There were so many things I could have said last night that I didn't want him to know. Unfortunately, since he was the only one who could fill me in on the particulars of our evening, I had time to kill until he woke up. I decided to go find a shower and attempt to rinse myself out of the daze I was in.

Edward had laid out fresh towels and a toothbrush for me in the en suite bathroom. The gesture made me even more grateful to him. While I showered, I tried to piece together the bits of memory I had from last night, but it got me nowhere. The more I thought about what I might have said, the more uncomfortable I felt about facing him. At the same time, I knew I had no other choice. If I wanted to know what happened, I was just going to have to suck it up and talk to Edward.

I finished up in the bathroom by redressing and pulling my hair into a ponytail using the elastic band I'd found in my hoodie pocket. I quietly went back into the bedroom and settled into the armchair to wait for Edward to wake up.

Even asleep, Edward was handsome. He wasn't the awkward boy of my childhood memories. His face had matured, and his features were very defined - a strong jaw line, straight nose and full, pink lips. Any girl in her right mind would kill for his thick, dark lashes, but it was his emerald green eyes that were the real gems, no pun intended. Even as a child, I could get lost in those eyes. They were deeper than I remembered - greener - but somehow I could still see his ten-year-old self in them, like some part of him remained unchanged by time. It didn't seem logical that he could be the same boy that was once my best friend, but that didn't stop the eruption of emotion that I felt studying his face. Even after all this time, I still cared about him.

It didn't take long for Edward to wake up. I wondered abstractedly if he could sense me staring at him. He sat up the moment his eyes opened. I don't think he was even fully cognizant yet, but he stared back at me in silence, his palms rubbing his eyes. Normally, I would have felt guilty for gawking, but we both seemed to be having the same problem.

"You're staring," I noted with a grin.

"So are you."

"Did you want to explain what I'm doing here?"

"You crawled over to me," he insisted indignantly. "I tried to get you to get back into the bed."

I laughed. "Not why I was next to you, Edward, why I'm at your house at all."

"Oh, that's easy. Mike Newton drugged you."

"What?"

"He slipped GHB into your drink and tried to force himself on you."

"At least I remember the last part," I said sarcastically.

"When I took you to Emergency Room to have you checked out, blood tests confirmed the GHB."

"That still doesn't explain why I'm at your house instead of mine."

"You were locked out of the house because you left your backpack in Mike's trunk."

I blew out a big breath. "Wow," I whispered, dumbfounded. "Thank you. I just…I can't believe…well, I thought…I mean…" I wished Edward would interrupt me; I felt like a babbling idiot. He just looked at me with those endless emerald eyes while I stammered and squirmed uncomfortably in place. "Do you wear your superhero suit under your clothes?" I finally asked.

"I'm hardly a superhero."

"Could have fooled me."

"I had no other choice but to help you."

Now it was Edward's turn to squirm. He didn't like the compliment or want the recognition.

"There's always a choice, and you could have walked away at any point. You could have left me in the parking lot, in the emergency room, or locked out of my house. Hell, you could have simply chosen to ignore what Mike was doing in the first place… but you didn't do any of those things. You helped me, and I owe you."

"No, you don't. I only did what any decent person would do."

"I do owe you, and somehow, I'll find a way to pay you back."

"That's not necessary, Bella."

"It's what any decent person would do."

His mouth turned down in a grimace, and I could tell he didn't like having his own words used against him. I was okay with that. I wasn't trying to be mean or make fun of him, but I wasn't going to drop my gratitude just because it made him uncomfortable.

"Listen, Edward, you have your way of doing things, and I have mine. What you did for me last night was _huge_. If you could put yourself in my shoes for a moment and consider what might have happened if you hadn't been there… You took care of me when I couldn't do it myself. So, if you don't mind, and even if you do, I need to pay it forward."

"Suit yourself."

His tone was curt, his expression almost angry. I would have to return his kindness subtly so he wouldn't feel put out. I didn't want to make him feel bad after everything he'd done for me.

"Can I use your phone, please?"

"You don't have to call your dad. I can drive you home."

"I was going to call a cab," I told him quietly. "You don't need to keep helping. You've done so much already."

"Well, we agreed last night that I would take you to Mike's house so you could get your backpack, and I'm a man of my word."

The icy edge in his tone was gone, replaced by his normal quiet confidence.

"Okay, thanks."

"No problem." He smiled awkwardly at me, keeping his eyes locked on mine, as if there was something important he still wanted to say. The silence between us became uncomfortable, and I was beginning to think that there was some problem when he finally spoke up. "Did you find the towels?"

"Yes, thank you," I told him enthusiastically. "It was very thoughtful of you. A shower was exactly what I needed when I woke up."

The grin that accompanied my thank you seemed to relax him somehow.

"If you're all set then, I'll go take a quick shower, and we can be on our way."

He sprang to his feet, wrapping the blanket around his body in one fluid motion, and practically sprinted to the bathroom. I guess when nature calls, you've got to answer quickly.

**EPOV**

I shut the bathroom door and breathed a sigh of relief. I rationalized that the blanket adequately camouflaged me, but if she knew, she didn't let on. I prayed she couldn't tell. Things between us were strange enough. The last thing I needed Bella to notice was how hard I was after sleeping beside her. Yes, it was a natural reaction to a pretty girl, and yes, it was basic biology, but it was still embarrassing, and my sexual response was not something I wanted to discuss with her. My shower was absolutely freezing, but it was far less uncomfortable than the perpetual erection I'd harbored for the last few hours.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Bella was nowhere in sight. I found her in the living room with a bucket by her side, scrubbing the couch in my mother's rubber gloves.

"Don't say a word," she warned.

"You don't need to do that."

"You weren't even going to tell me, were you?"

There was hint of disgust in her tone. I wasn't sure if it was aimed at the couch or me.

"I didn't see the point in bringing it up," I admitted honestly.

"Maybe so I could clean it up or at least help you do it?"

"You were too out of it to help."

A faint blush crept onto her cheeks. In contrast to my comment, her embarrassment confused me. It's not as if she drugged herself or threw up on the couch on purpose.

"Still," she muttered quietly, so quietly I wasn't sure I was meant to hear it.

"I'm going to rent an upholstery cleaning machine from the supermarket. It will make the job much easier."

"Really?" she asked, raising her head to finally look at me. She seemed genuinely surprised.

"Yes. I'll be heading straight there as soon as we get your bag and I drop you off."

I bent over and picked up the bucket, offering it to her and waiting while she reluctantly dropped the brush in and handed me the gloves. I brought all of it into the laundry room to deal with later. Bella was waiting by the front door when I returned.

"Ready to go?" I asked.

"Yeah. Do you know where Mike lives?"

"Yes, I do. It's not far from here. We rode the bus to school together for a long time."

She nodded meekly at me and walked out the door.

Bella seemed uncomfortable in the car, constantly fidgeting and biting her lip. I was surprised she didn't draw blood with the way she was chewing on it. Her hands were distracting me while I drove, and I fought the urge to reach out and still them.

"You don't have to do this. I can speak to Mike and get your backpack from him," I said, taking a guess at her apprehension.

"No, I want to do it. I should do it."

"Why should you do it?"

"I don't want him to think he has anything on me."

"Knowing Mike, I'm sure he believes you are none the wiser about what he did to you."

"That's exactly what I mean. I don't want him to think he won."

"He didn't win. He didn't get what he wanted from you, even after he went to despicable means to acquire it. If anything, I'd say he is the loser here."

"You really think so?"

"Yes."

"You don't think less of me for getting caught in the situation in the first place?"

"No. I think it could have happened to anyone. He's someone you've know all your life. You trusted him, and he betrayed that trust."

Her eyes brightened at my words, like something I said clicked in her brain and relieved her of the guilt and indecision she was previously lost in. I pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine.

"Will you come to the door with me?" she asked.

"If you'd like me to."

"I'd like you to. I'll do all the talking."

"Of course."

I followed her to the door. On the way past Mike's car, I noticed it was unlocked. I popped the trunk and checked for Bella's backpack, but it wasn't inside. I wasn't surprised he had it; it was just another excuse to corner her.

Bella had a newfound confidence now. She walked tall and proud, a gentle swagger in the sway of her hips. It made me realize that she was a force to be reckoned with when she put her mind to something. A part of me was relieved that she wasn't the girl I found last night, although I didn't know why exactly.

She rang the bell and we waited silently, Bella blocking the door with her body and me standing casually off to the side. If nothing else I would enjoy the earful she'd give Mike. He would be lucky if that was all he got.

After a few moments, the door opened, and Mike appeared. He leaned suggestively against the doorframe, as cocky and assumptive as ever.

"I knew you'd come crawling back."

He hadn't noticed me yet, and it was all I could do to keep my feet planted as I fought my desire to punch him again.

"Do I look like I'm crawling?" Bella's voice was calm and assertive, just a hint of derision in her tone. "I came for my backpack, nothing more."

"Why don't you come in and get it?" Mike suggested.

"I wouldn't let her even if she wanted to," I declared. Bella turned and smiled at me.

"And I don't want to," she added.

"What is he doing here?" Mike demanded.

"My bag, please?"

Mike disappeared and returned with Bella's backpack.

"I would have brought it to you later."

"No, thanks. Just so we're clear, I know what you did to me, and I will scream it from the rooftops if I hear about you doing it to anyone else. You're lucky your ass isn't in jail right now."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bella."

"Your smooth guy act doesn't work with me. I see through you, and I know who you really are."

"Whatever," he scoffed. He rolled his eyes and tried to laugh off Bella's accusation, but I could hear the guilt in his forced chuckle.

Bella turned to me. "Come on. Let's go." I nodded and began to follow her. She stopped short and turned back to Mike. "One more thing, Mike. You were wrong about something else, too."

"What's that?" he asked in an arrogant tone.

"Last night you made a completely incorrect statement. While I wouldn't touch you wearing full body armor, I would indeed sleep with Edward." She turned on her heel and moved toward me. "Go with me," she pleaded softly, and then planted her lips on mine. Shock held me in my place, but I didn't fight her. I wanted her to stick it to Mike as much as she wanted to.

Her mouth was pressure-perfect against mine - warm, soft and sensual. When she wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled her body into mine, it was momentarily overwhelming in the most pleasurable way. I didn't even realize how much I was enjoying her kiss until I heard Mike slam the door, and Bella pulled away from me.

"Sorry," she whispered with a smile. "That was probably going too far, but I really wanted to piss him off."

"Mission accomplished I think, at least if the decibel level of the slamming door was any indication."

"Thanks for going with the flow."

"Sure."

My mind erupted in questions. Bella seemed completely unaffected by what happened between us, and that made me feel even more uncomfortable with my own thoughts, so I said nothing. As I followed her silently to the car, I splintered off the commotion in my brain to block the anarchy from taking over. Any question I would have asked would have sounded as awkward and confused as I felt. It was better to stay quiet until I had time to deconstruct what had happened.

While we drove, I knew Bella could sense my discomfort. The more she looked at me, the more uneasy I became. Her forced smile made me feel infinitely worse. It was like a confirmation of the division between us, like she pitied me and wanted to get away from me as soon as possible. I'd seen it all before, a hundred times or more, but somehow from her I felt all the shame and ignominy acutely. By the time I pulled into her driveway, I was anxious to get her out of the car.

"I don't even know what to say, Edward. Thank you doesn't begin to cover what you did for me."

She shifted her body in my direction as she spoke. I just looked straight ahead.

"You already thanked me."

"I know, and I'll probably do it again. That's sort of what I do when I don't know how else to express my gratitude."

"There's no need to repeat yourself."

I knew I was being impolite, but I didn't see any reason to drag out the end with repetitive conversation.

"Sorry. It's sort of like a tic. You're in luck though; you'll have a couple of weeks away from it during Christmas break, unless you count email or texting…"

"I should go," I lied, interrupting her. I just wanted the agony to be over.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you from your day. You should have said something earlier. I would have taken a cab home. Of course that wouldn't have helped me with the 'no key' problem. I guess I could have taken the cab to Mike's…but then I would've had my keys and no truck, plus I didn't really want to go to Mike's by myself. I guess I should've just come home and waited for my dad."

"Do you always ramble this much?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "Usually when I'm nervous. I don't even realize I'm doing it. I start off saying one thing and then end up giving my life story. Why? Did I do it last night?"

"You're nervous?" She seemed the opposite of nervous to me.

"A little."

I snickered. The one time I wanted her to say more so I could understand her logic, she said nothing.

"What?" she asked.

"It's the way you answered my question. You offer irrelevant information unprompted, but in answer to a question, you give no explanation at all."

"I answered the question you asked," she declared with a smirk. "If you wanted more information, you should have asked a better question."

"Why are you nervous?" I demanded impatiently.

Her smirk disappeared, and her eyes dropped to the ground while she considered my question.

"I don't know what I said to you last night, but I'm thinking I probably said too much, which means you know…"

"That I know what?"

"And if you know, that would explain the awkwardness between us since I kissed you."

"I don't follow you."

"You don't need to."

"I'd like to…if you'd give me half a chance."

"I could say the same to you."

"Bella, you aren't making any sense at all."

"That's okay."

"You're seriously not going to tell me what you're talking about?"

"If you already know, then I don't need to tell you. And if you don't know, there's no way in hell I'm going to straight up blab it to you."

"Your logic is irritating sometimes."

"My dad says the same thing. Thank you again for helping me last night, and not just with Mike, but for taking me to the hospital and giving me a place to crash, too. You're a good guy, Edward, and I was lucky you found me. I won't forget it."

I nodded, not trusting my voice to speak as I vacillated between frustrated anger and awkward discomfort. The sincerity in her words and her tone of her voice made me want to believe her, but I didn't.

She reached out and patted my knee, leaving her hand there while she spoke. "I'll see you at school."

I nodded again and watched her as she got out of the car. She turned back and smiled at me before she slammed the door and stepped back. She was still standing there when I pulled away.

I was too distracted by the thoughts floating around in my head to pay close attention on the way home. Bella's sincerity had stripped my mind of its barriers, and the questions endlessly burst forth. The problem was that I didn't have answers to any of them. The sound of a man clearing his throat brought me to attention. Somehow, I was standing on my front porch, key in hand, with no memory of how I got there. There was a van parked in front of my house that advertised 'Stan's Carpet & Upholstery Service.'

"I didn't order your services," I blurted at the man walking toward me. "And I'm not going to take your survey, nor do I wish to be entered into a draw for a free trip."

"That's not why I'm here, Sir. Miss Swan sent us to clean the couch."

"Pardon?" I asked in disbelief.

I listened as he reiterated the same explanation and then unlocked the door mechanically to let him in. I showed him where to find the couch and then went directly to the phone in the kitchen. The message light blinked red like some sort of warning, and I swallowed hard. It had to be Bella, but I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the message. She seemed so sincere as she said goodbye, and I wanted to hold on to that sincerity. I didn't want to hear pity in her voice or listen to excuses about why we couldn't be friends. With sudden clarity, I realized I didn't want her to be like everyone else. I pressed the button and held my breath.

"Hey, Edward. It's Bella. I figured out a way to pay it forward a tiny bit, so let Stan in to clean your couch, please, for me? He does a great job. And I could tell you weren't really going to rent one of those supermarket jobbies. You just said that to get me out the door. I know I imposed on your kindness, and that, well… Listen, I know that I went too far with the kiss, and I'm sorry. I made you feel uncomfortable, which is really shitty, especially given how far out of your way you went to help me. Crap, I said shitty, didn't I? I probably shouldn't have sworn on your answering machine. Hopefully you'll delete it before your mom gets home. Sorry for the rambling. My point is thank you for everything you did. If there is ever anything you need help with, I hope you'll think of me. I'd be glad to help if I can. I…I…I…It was really nice to talk with you again. Merry Christmas, Edward."

I played the message a couple of times, grinning from ear to ear. She wasn't like everyone else, and I had never been so glad for anything in all my life.

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**A/N**: I'd love to hear from you. Please, take a moment to leave a review.


	4. You Caught Me Off Guard

DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

I wanted to express my gratitude to Project Team Beta again. If you need a beta, consider using them. It's an incredible opportunity to have some positive feedback and constructive criticism about your work. Most especially, thank you to Nijiska and Scorp112 for their beta work on this chapter.

Thanks for the reviews and feedback everyone. I appreciate it!

* * *

**Chapter 4: You Caught Me Off Guard**

**BPOV**

"Bella, is that you?" I heard Charlie ask as soon as I closed the door behind me. I kicked off my shoes, hung up my coat, and headed to the kitchen. He was sitting at the table and glared at me when I appeared.

"Hi, Dad," I mumbled, grabbing the phonebook and disappearing upstairs.

I looked up the number for Stan's Carpet & Upholstery Service. We'd used them after Charlie's World Series party a few months ago, and they had done such a good job on the carpet that it looked brand new. If anyone could save Edward's mother's couch, it was Stan. I explained the situation and gave him Edward's address. I even talked him into going over right away. I wanted to strike while the iron was hot, before Edward could find a way to say no.

I quickly phoned Edward's house and left a message on his answering machine. I asked him to let Stan clean the couch, rambling a little bit while I tried to put the rest of my thoughts into words. I made sure he knew I was sorry for making him uncomfortable. I wasn't sorry for kissing him, but that wasn't exactly something I could admit. I wanted him to know that I appreciated what he did for me and that I really wanted to pay the favor back sometime, even if it was on his terms.

"Where the hell have you been?" Charlie asked when I hung up the phone. I couldn't decide whether he was actually pissed off at me or just uncomfortable that he was almost in my room.

"I stayed at a friend's house."

"The same one that you got into trouble with?"

"I didn't get into any trouble," I informed him curtly.

"The hospital said otherwise. They contacted the station about the incident. Geez, Bella, you could have at least called to tell me what happened." His expression was a mixture of irritation and disbelief.

"Why, Dad? It's not as if you could have done anything. Besides, the lake is a pretty much a dead zone."

"I know the cell signal at the lake is unreliable, but you still could have left a message at home."

"You weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow. Why would I leave myself a message when it's just as easy to tell you when you got home?"

"Would you have told me when I got home?"

"Probably not."

"Why? Are you hiding something?"

"No, Dad. Just because I didn't want to share that some asshole drugged me and tried to shove his hands down my pants, doesn't mean that I'm hiding something."

"But you didn't talk to the counselor at the hospital either."

"Truthfully, I don't remember anyone offering me counseling, but I wouldn't have wasted the hospital's time. It wasn't a big deal. I was lucky that a friend was nearby and stepped in before anything really bad happened."

"You can't depend on luck in this kind of situation. I've taught you to be more careful."

"It could have happened to anyone," I said quietly, reminding myself of the truth more than defending my behavior to my dad.

"But it didn't happen to anyone. It happened to you. Think about how I felt when the station called me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said sarcastically. "I can totally see how this is _my_ fault. I am a complete dimwit. Next time someone slips me a roofie, I'll be sure to hide so I can save you the shame of my actions."

"Watch your mouth, young lady. I never said this was your fault, but if you're keeping the wrong company, it certainly makes this type of scenario more likely. What kind of lowlifes are you hanging around with, Bella?"

"The lowest of the low," I said maliciously. "The infamous miscreant: Mike Newton."

"You're saying Mike Newton drugged you?" he asked incredulously.

"He was the only one I was with, Dad."

"That's a very serious accusation, Bella. I mean...Mike's a good kid. He's always been very respectful to me. And he's on the football team, and he works part time at his parent's store to help them out."

I huffed and rolled my eyes, pissed off that he seemed to be defending Mike.

"I know it's serious. Regardless of what you think of him, I'm telling you the truth."

"If you want to press charges, we're going to have to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mike was responsible, and that's very difficult in a he-said-she-said situation. We should go down to the station to fill out a report."

What was the point? My own father didn't believe me.

"You don't have to worry about proving anything. I don't want to press charges. Since I wasn't hurt, I'd rather just put the whole thing behind me and forget it ever happened."

"Well, I can go have a word with his parents if you'd like?"

"For what, Dad? He's only going to deny it. Besides, you know how people in this town love to gossip. If you think it was embarrassing when the station called to tell you what happened, wait until people start to discuss it at the grocery store or the post office. You won't be able to show your face anywhere." I rolled my eyes for effect. The best way to shut my dad up was to piss him off.

"Great, Bella. Your sarcasm is really helpful. I'm not the bad guy here. Pardon me for not knowing the best way to handle a delicate situation."

How hard was it to believe that your daughter was telling the truth and take her word over some random kid? For my dad, it was impossible.

"There's no situation. Just forget the hospital ever called."

"Are you sure that's how you want to handle it?"

"Positive."

"And you're sure you're okay?"

"I'm golden."

"Next time you're in trouble, I expect a phone call," he said quietly.

"Sure thing," I mumbled, turning my back to him and pretending to get something out of my backpack. I didn't want him to see the tears in my eyes.

Charlie hesitated, probably searching for something to say. Unable to bridge the gap with anything that would help, he eventually wandered away. I tried to appreciate his effort. He wasn't any good at father-daughter stuff, and I was absolutely crappy at being patient and waiting for him to try. It was just easier to have him fall short and act in a predictable manner than it was to get my hopes up and be disappointed by his effort.

After I calmed down, I felt guilty for giving him such a hard time, so I went downstairs to look for him. I found him on the phone. He didn't know I was there.

"She's safe… I know, Billy… Yeah, I know, but… I failed Renee; I don't want to fail Bella… Sometimes I think she has a little bit too much of her mother in her."

If nothing else, I had impeccable timing, and at least I didn't have to feel bad about anything I'd said to him any longer. I knew I couldn't control what he thought about me, not with regard to the situation with Mike or my mother, but he was wrong. If I were like my mother, I would have left him, too. Instead, I had been waiting around for him to be a father for the past eight years. I guess I was more patient than I'd given myself credit for.

I went back up to my room and locked the door, refusing to spend another second upset over my dad or Mike. I snuggled up under my comforter and let my memory of kissing Edward monopolize me. I was going to need a plan. Now that our paths had finally crossed, there was no way I was going to just let him slip out of my life again.

**EPOV**

Even though I was alone now, the awkwardness I felt in Bella's presence lingered irrationally. I simply wanted to understand what I felt when she kissed me, to define it in some manner so I could process it and put it behind me. I didn't know where to begin. I'd never felt anything like it before and had no frame of reference to help me interpret it. I didn't know if it was physiological, psychological or some convoluted combination of the two. The only thing I knew for sure was that the answer was complicated; everything with emotions was, especially for me. I was definitely out of my element.

Her kiss certainly brought a physical reaction in my body, a rush of adrenaline and excitement that had taken me off guard in the same way the kiss itself had. It was the pressure of her lips against mine that drew me in, focusing my attention on her mouth and the erotic nature of our connection. When she pulled her body into mine, my reaction to her intensified. The feeling of her pressed against me left my skin tingling in every spot where our bodies connected. Everything about my reaction pointed to hormones, and I wasn't sure how to differentiate between that or whatever else it might be.

It would have been simple to blame my hormones and call it lust. I'd spent the night aroused by all kinds of crazy sexual fantasies about Bella, and I had no trouble admitting that I found her pretty. I'd felt lust before, though. It was purely sexual, no thought or emotion involved. Lust was a passing thrill that could be entirely nullified by a hot shower and my hand. Even though there was a sexual element to consider in the equation, I felt no compulsion to think of Bella and jerk off. Whatever I was feeling was definitely more than unfulfilled libido.

Logically, if my reaction were entirely hormonal, then the effect of kissing Bella should have long ago passed. It had not. That seemed to indicate that my reaction had more than just a chemical component. The notion was rather ironic considering I equated love to a chemical reaction, much to Bella's chagrin. But this wasn't love either. The idea of love at first sight was corny and completely illogical. Was there a middle ground between lust and love, and if so, what was it exactly?

What I felt had to be significant on some level. After all, a girl I'd known all my life was suddenly the focus of my every thought. Last night, she was just an old friend in need, a girl any decent person would help. Today, I was concerned with whether the kiss she used as a weapon against Mike meant something to her. I wasn't seeing her in the same light as before. It was almost as if that kiss served to redefine Bella in my mind, transforming her from desirable to desired. And maybe that was the simplest label for what I was feeling - desire.

I mulled over the notion of desire and the implications of it. After all, just because I desired her didn't mean I had to act on it. Aside from school, our lives didn't intersect, and it would be simple enough to avoid her there if I wanted to remove her from my life. I simply didn't want to. I might not understand the inner workings of what I felt, but I understood the need to explore it further.

Her phone call seemed to indicate that she enjoyed my company, too. At least it wasn't pity that made her smile at me. I was guardedly optimistic about that fact. It gave me a reason to move forward, but move forward how? I needed a casual way to interact with her outside of the prying eyes at school, but the places where I spent my time were not ones where I would simply run across her. A normal person might make use of the phone, but creating random conversation wasn't my strong suit, and I didn't feel confident enough to invite myself into her life by showing up at her door. The only open avenue that I could see was asking her out on a date, and I knew I wasn't ready for that kind of pressure. A date would be too social, too public, and too full of expectations. There was no way I was going to put myself on display when I wasn't even sure what I felt was of any consequence.

I was at a dead end of sorts, with no way to determine if Bella felt something when she kissed me, no way to interact with her where I at least had a chance to be comfortable, and no way to further my understanding of my own feelings. Her kiss was fresh in my mind, but that didn't mean it wouldn't dissipate with time. Perhaps assigning permanence to what I was feeling was premature. Maybe the best thing was to do nothing at all and give myself a chance to get over it.

I didn't really know Bella, but she was a girl, and that meant a hassle would surely accompany a relationship of any kind with her. We'd proved our friendship didn't work years ago, and nothing had really changed that would alter that fact - not a few dreams, or being in the same place at the same time, or a kiss of convenience. Avoiding an entanglement with her was probably easier for me all the way around.

By the end of Christmas break, I had myself convinced that I had nothing more than sexual chemistry with Bella. She popped into my thoughts less and less with each day, although admittedly, I pushed her out when she appeared. The one place I had no control over was my dreams, but her frequency in them dwindled too. I was confident when school started up again that whatever I thought I felt was behind me.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

I wasn't at school more than five minutes before I ran into her. She spoke a quiet hello as I passed her, a shy smile on her lips. All I could do was stare as I walked by her. I might have smiled, I couldn't remember. My mind was desperately trying to put back up all the walls that were dismantled by that one tiny grin. It became obvious in that instant that I had deluded myself into believing that whatever I felt wasn't real. It was very real, and I was entirely uncomfortable with the realization.

The morning went by in a blur, and I skipped lunch altogether. I didn't want to chance running into Bella. I just wanted to get through the day so I could go home and hide from everything. Even though I understood the futility of that choice, I focused on the indulgence of avoidance. My day ended with a free period. With my imminent escape only moments away, I headed to the parking lot feeling relieved. The relief was fleeting, quickly replaced by anxiety when I found Bella waiting by my car. Knowing I couldn't avoid her, I willed my composure and reminded myself that I was capable of speaking to her.

"Did you need a ride?" I asked. It was a lame beginning, but a beginning nonetheless.

"No, I've got my truck." She pointed towards an ancient truck parked a few spots down from mine.

"That's yours?"

"Don't hate on the truck. It gets me from point A to B, and that's all I need it to do."

"I wasn't hating on it. I was just…surprised. I imagined you in a compact sedan, like a Honda Civic maybe," I explained.

"You imagined me?"

"No, I mean I figured…"

Bella interrupted me before I could finish my thought.

"I know what you meant. I was just teasing, Edward. I'd prefer to drive a Honda Civic. They're much cuter than the behemoth I drive, but also much more expensive. The truck was a gift from my dad, and free was good with me. Besides, we can't all drive a luxurious, sophisticated Volvo."

"You forgot fast."

"Excuse me?"

"The best part of the Volvo is its speed."

"Is that a fact? I never would have guessed you were a lead foot."

"What good is a car if it doesn't respond when you need it to?" I waited for Bella to reply to my statement, but she said nothing. Her silence made me feel self-conscious. "You disagree?"

"Not at all. I just wouldn't know what a responsive vehicle was, even if I kicked it in the muffler. My truck is anti-responsive. I have to talk nicely to it just to get it to start, and begging is involved if I need it to go above fifty."

I laughed. I couldn't help myself. It was partly relief in realizing I hadn't screwed up by saying the wrong thing and partly delight in her sarcasm. She laughed too, and the way it affected my body made me feel awkward and obvious. I tried to cut off my reaction by refocusing on Bella's intentions.

"Did you need something?"

"Do I have to need something to talk to you?"

"You were waiting by my car. I assumed it wasn't random."

"It wasn't. I wanted say hello and ask if the couch came clean."

"Yes, thank you. The company you sent over did a superb job. My mother didn't suspect a thing."

"Good. I would have felt horrible if you'd gotten in trouble."

"Thank you, by the way. That was a good idea. I should have thought of it myself."

"I was glad to help…"

The silence quickly became uncomfortable. Bella looked down and kicked at a pebble with the toe of her shoe.

"So, um, is it okay to talk to you at school?" she asked. "You looked a little bit irritated when I said hi this morning."

"I wasn't expecting to see you."

"We go to school together. We see each other every day."

The truth was that most days I walked through the halls without really noticing anyone.

"I wasn't expecting to see you first thing this morning," I clarified, hoping she'd drop her train of thought. "I was running a bit late, and you caught me off guard."

"You're on guard?"

She took everything I said literally. It was a strange realization because it meant she was paying attention to what I said. I had become too used to people ignoring me, either not understanding what I said or not caring about it.

"My mind was elsewhere."

"Because you seemed kind of on guard."

"Why would I be on guard with you?" I asked mockingly, trying to offload her accusation and shuffle the responsibility of the awkwardness between us back onto her.

"Because I make you uncomfortable. Because you don't always know what to say in social situations. Because you're still mad about that kiss." Her voice became quieter with each reason. I wondered if it was because she felt uneasy pointing out my obvious shortcomings or if she knew I did.

"It's none of those things."

"Well, I apologized for the kiss, and you don't need to feel uncomfortable around me. I don't always know what to say. Sometimes I just laugh or change the subject."

"I don't feel uncomfortable around you," I assured her, wishing it was true even though I knew it was a lie.

"So you normally avoid everyone and only speak when spoken to, except when someone says hi?"

"I smiled back at you."

"It looked more like a grimace."

It was clear that she wasn't going to let this go, and I didn't see the point in continuing.

"I tried…I should go."

"Do you run away from everything?" she asked softly. There was a hint of disbelief in her tone that I didn't understand.

"Do you really need to hear that your observations about me are true?" I tried to keep my voice controlled but irritation seeped into my tone.

"You sell yourself short. I don't believe those things about you, but it's pretty obvious you do."

"What do you know about what I believe?" I seethed sarcastically.

"I know that you don't even try most of the time because people can be cruel and it sucks to get rejected again and again. I know that you've lumped the entire student body into the same category without giving most of us the benefit of the doubt that we might understand how you feel. And I know that you're uncomfortable around me, maybe because I can see all of this stuff about you."

"We haven't been friends for years. I don't really care about what you think you know."

"If you didn't care then you wouldn't be standing here defending yourself, and you wouldn't have helped me with Mike."

"You're back to that are you?"

"Can I have a ride home?"

"You said you didn't need one."

"My truck won't start."

"Bella, what do you want?" I demanded angrily.

"I could ask you the same question."

"You're infuriating!"

I'd had enough and reached around Bella to open the car door.

"I thought we could be friends," she whispered timidly.

"You have a strange way of showing it."

"I told you I don't always know what to say."

She gently laid her hand on mine, and I froze. Tiny flickers of electricity caromed between her palm and my skin, almost as if the air around us had electrified.

"That makes two of us," I mumbled.

I turned to face her again. Her eyes were sad and wistful like they were at the hospital when she spoke of her father.

"I'm sorry if I've gone about this the wrong way. I wasn't trying to make you feel cornered or pressure you into anything. I just didn't want to let the opportunity to reconnect with you slip away."

Her choice of words struck a chord in me. _Opportunity_. It seemed foolish to pass up what she was offering when I was looking for a way to figure out what she made me feel. I'd been so focused on avoidance that I let my awkwardness get the better of me.

"I don't think on my feet very well. I wasn't consciously trying to push you away, but sometimes my lack of social skills gets in the way."

"Friends?" she asked.

My eyes wandered to our hands, and I absently wondered if she felt the current of energy between us.

"Friends," I agreed.

We made plans to study at the library on Thursday. That gave me three days to figure out what the hell I would say to her.

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**A/N:** Anybody want to guess what's going to happen at the library? I'd love to hear your theories! :) Yes, I'm asking for a review. Pretty please?


	5. Hypothesis I Blame The Journals

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

I wanted to take this chance to thank Project Team Beta for all of their help with this story. I have been blessed with two of the best Permanent Betas now, so I'd like to take a second to introduce Ms. **LightStarDusting** and Ms. **Scorp112**. These two fantastic ladies are made of awesome. Their input has been invaluable, especially on this chapter. It was important to me to get it just right, and thanks to them, it is.

Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I love hearing from you guys very much and sincerely appreciate the support.

**

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Chapter 5: Hypothesis; I Blame The Journals**

**EP****OV**

Bella and I came to a truce of sorts at school. She said hello and smiled when we passed in the hallways. I would nod or smile in return. She didn't wait by my car or approach me in the cafeteria, even though the fact that I ate by myself would have made it easy for her to do so. She seemed to understand that it was a comfort level thing with me, or that's what I told myself. Maybe she just didn't want to start another fight.

I vacillated between thinking I was an idiot for even entertaining the idea of exploring what Bella made me feel and trying to figure out the best way to approach the subject with her. To say that it felt awkward was a vast understatement. It felt downright unnatural for me most of the time. My reaction to her left me feeling confused and irrational, sometimes even temperamental. It was the desire to understand why that secured my perseverance.

I wasn't without reservations. I was uncomfortable with the notion that a kiss could have such a strong effect on me - that another person was capable of bringing out such a powerful reaction in me. I couldn't say I wasn't curious about the forces behind it though. They fascinated me as much as they bewildered me. I admit there was a small part of me that wanted to shelve all of it, one that didn't find any interest in or want to be bothered with a connection to Bella. She was a distraction that had already proven how disturbing she could be to my concentration.

I was almost ashamed to admit how much time I'd spent thinking about her over the past few days. My thoughts were entirely cyclical. How was I supposed to determine a course of action with Bella when I couldn't even make up my own mind about what I wanted to happen? I'd considered several different approaches to the situation but found I wasn't satisfied with any of them. They all felt foreign and uncomfortable, like I was pretending to be someone else. By the time Thursday rolled around, I was still utterly clueless about everything to do with her.

I met Bella in the foyer of the library, and we found a quiet spot in the second floor's scientific journal section. It was a place I frequented, content with the lack of people in the area. Plus, I found the knowledge that surrounded me comforting on some level. Beyond the wisdom contained within the pages of the publications, the procedure in the research lent me a sense of acceptance and complacency. I felt at home here, like I could truly be myself.

"I've never even been up here before," Bella said quietly.

I set my backpack on the table and took a seat. "It's deserted. I find I get a lot more work done here."

"What are you studying?" she asked, taking the chair beside mine. She began to unpack her books.

"Brushing up on my chemistry for the final next week. You?"

She pointed to the textbook in front of her. "Spanish."

"Is it a favorite subject?" I wondered.

"Not especially. I'm decent enough at it, but I don't love it."

"What subject do you love?" It bothered me that I couldn't remember. It seemed like I should have been able to, but I was drawing a blank.

"English…and Biology." She blushed and looked down. I stared at her, not understanding her reaction. "I know it's a strange combination of things," she continued. "I love to read, so English comes easily. I don't know why I love biology. Maybe because I'm fascinated by how things work."

"Me, too," I agreed. Her answer surprised me. It was also rather ironic given the amount of time I'd spent during the last few days trying to figure out how things between the two of us worked.

Bella got right to studying, pulling out her Spanish textbook and practicing her verb conjugations. My attempts to balance the chemical equations in front of me were fruitless. I was too worried about figuring out what to say to concentrate. Bella didn't seem to share my problem. She was so thoroughly engrossed in what she was doing that I think a bomb could have gone off without her noticing.

My mind ping-ponged between the external pressure of making conversation and the internal pressure to find a way to analyze what Bella's kiss, and by extrapolation, what she herself made me feel. I was ineffectual with both topics, especially the latter. While the idea of simply kissing her again held some appeal, I wasn't nearly bold enough, and I was fairly certain the end result would be a recurrence of my intense reaction and the plethora of unanswered questions that followed. This realization brought out a small amount of dread and fear. I didn't need a resurgence of confusion. I needed answers, or at the very least, some kind of plan to get them. So far, preparing for something I had no understanding of was proving to be impossible.

"You know, for a boy who doesn't like attention, you sure stare a lot," she noted, looking up at me with an inquisitive expression.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I'm feeling a bit distracted. I'm not sure how much talking I should be doing."

"And staring seemed like a suitable alternative to conversation?" Her smile told me she was teasing, but I felt embarrassed anyway.

"Perhaps not suitable, but easier," I allowed, shifting uneasily in my chair.

"Do you find it hard to talk to me?" There was no accusation in her tone, just simple curiosity.

I struggled to find an explanation that would adequately explain my difficulties. I did find it hard to talk to her, but not just her – _to anyone_. "The difficulty is in knowing _what_ to say. A lot of things run through my mind, but many of them are not appropriate to share."

"How are they inappropriate?" She stared at me while she waited for me to respond. She had a knack for getting the answers she was after, I had to give her that. She never came across as intrusive but always left me feeling like I couldn't avoid answering her directly. Maybe it was in the words she chose or the timbre of her quiet, mellifluous voice. I couldn't be sure. I was unsure about so many things when it came to Bella.

"Embarrassing, too much information, uninteresting," I offered. "Sometimes things in my head are just hints of something else, and I have to wait for my thoughts to solidify."

"You should let me be the judge of what is or isn't interesting to me," she suggested softly, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. "I might surprise you."

"You already have." The words slipped out unintentionally, before I could stop them. I found it hard to keep my opinions to myself in general, but with Bella, it was especially difficult. I felt a familiarity around her, one that precluded me from being anything but one hundred percent honest with her. Even when we were younger, I felt it.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "Really? How?"

"That's one of those 'too much information' things I should have kept to myself." I wished I had. In recent days, I had been paying very close attention to her. I didn't want to make my behavior any more obvious by pointing out how much I'd noticed.

"Oh, okay." She smiled and went back to her books.

"See, now _that_ surprised me," I said without thinking again.

"What did?"

"You categorically accepting that I didn't want to give you any more information." I hadn't expected her to give up so easily. I certainly wouldn't have.

"You have the same right to privacy as anyone, Edward. And really, what recourse do I have if you don't want to tell me something? Do you want me to beat it out of you?" She raised one eyebrow at me and smirked.

"You used to be more stubborn," I pointed out.

"Ouch!" She feigned a grimace and giggled quietly.

"Sorry, but that's how I remember you."

"Maybe I used to be." She shrugged indifferently at the idea. "I probably used to be a lot of things that I'm not anymore. I think I grew up and realized that some things are a waste of energy."

"But you didn't think trying to reconnect with me was a waste of energy?" I wondered why it wasn't. Aside from the gratitude that resulted from helping her with Mike, I couldn't figure out what made striking up a friendship with me so important to her all of a sudden.

"It was a necessity," she said decidedly, looking up at me with her piercing brown eyes. "I never really understood why we stopped being friends in the first place."

"It was a long time ago." It felt more like a different lifetime.

"The way I remember it, we were friends one day, and the next day we weren't," she mumbled. "Not that I remember being ten years old that clearly."

"That is pretty much how it happened," I agreed, knitting my brows together. Despite my desire to drop this subject, I had a feeling it was going to re-familiarize me with Bella's stubbornness.

"Do you remember what happened?" Her voice was timid, hiding something in its quiet reticence.

"Yes." I nodded and looked down, training my eyes on the tabletop. I didn't like to think about that day at all. "We were at the park. I told you something that you didn't like hearing, and you told me we couldn't be friends any longer."

"We were on the swings," she added softly. "You told me you liked me, and I started crying. I must have seemed so horrible to you."

"Your reaction was confusing to me," I confirmed, keeping my gaze averted. "But only because I thought telling you was a _good_ thing. Instead, it made you sad… Not that it matters anymore."

"It does matter," she insisted. "I shouldn't have ever let my parents' problems affect our friendship like that."

"Your parents' problems?" I asked, baffled by how our friendship related to them.

"That was only a day or two after my parents separated, and I was pretty messed up about it. My parents always seemed like they were the best of friends, so nothing about my mom leaving made sense to me. I was too young to recognize how selfish she was. I decided that you couldn't be friends with someone you liked because you'd lose twice if things didn't work out. So, when you told me you liked me, I thought we were going to end up like my parents. It was stupid of me, but when I tried to apologize a few days later, you wouldn't talk to me."

Hearing the reason behind her reaction that day made the whole disagreement seem so trivial, yet it marked the beginning of the end of a lot of things in my life that day. I looked up at her, feeling like I owed her some kind of explanation for my behavior, even though she hadn't asked for one directly.

"My family had plans to go out that night," I told her, swallowing hard to steel my voice against the pain that threatened to take over. "After our disagreement, I was too upset to go home. I don't remember where I went or what I did. I just sort of wandered around, trying to avoid thinking about how I was feeling. I went home when it began to get dark, but it was too late by then. My mother had already sent my father out to look for me. While he was searching, he got into a car accident and died."

"Oh my God! I had no idea. Edward, I'm so sorry."

"I've always felt responsible for my father's death," I confessed in a quiet voice. "And you're the first person I've ever been able to admit that to. I guess that's why I wouldn't talk to you afterward. I don't really remember that time very clearly."

"It's no wonder our friendship fell apart so suddenly, after what happened to us," she murmured. She leaned across the space between us and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. The gesture said more than any words could have. She wanted to take my pain away, and she wanted me to take hers. The two of us were the same, trapped by our feelings of responsibility for what happened to our parents. As awkward as it felt to me, I knew I should return the gesture. After a moment of hesitation, I let my arms slide tentatively around her waist.

"It wasn't your fault, Edward. You know that, right?" Her voice was quietly urgent against my ear. She squeezed me even tighter.

"No more than your parents' break up was yours. We were both just kids. We couldn't have understood what was going on," I replied. She nodded in agreement and laid her head on my shoulder. Her tears soaked through the fabric of my shirt a few seconds later, stripping me of any comfort I might have felt. I fought the urge to pull away from her. I didn't want to insult her, but I didn't know how to deal with the emotion she was lost in.

I realized I was wrong about our pain. On the surface, it seemed the same, but Bella's pain went much deeper than mine. My father was gone. For all intents and purposes, Bella was motherless, almost as if she had died the day she left, but she wasn't gone. She held and exercised the power to hurt Bella every day with her choice not to be a part of Bella's life. As much as I wanted to withdraw from Bella's crying, to distance myself from the source of my discomfort, it just seemed cruel. Instead, I waited for her to pull away.

"Thank you for understanding," she whispered when she withdrew from our embrace. She wiped her tear-streaked cheeks with her palms and sniffled, seeming a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean to be such a cry-baby."

"It's fine," I replied stoically. It really wasn't, but it was my choice to let her cry on my shoulder, and I wasn't about to make her feel worse for falling apart.

"That wasn't easy for you. I could tell," she said compassionately.

"Is there anything you don't notice?" I wondered rhetorically. I tried not to think about all of the other things she might have noticed that I didn't want her to.

She smiled and went back to her Spanish. My concentration was so poor that my chemistry may as well have been hieroglyphs. I was fidgety and on edge, feeling encumbered by Bella's outpouring of emotion and my own ineptitude. Bella was able to re-center herself by crying, but I couldn't think of an outlet to accomplish the task for myself. Running was my usual vice, but that wasn't a viable option right now.

Instead, I retreated into my head, letting my imagination busy itself with the science that surrounded me. Tens of shelves with hundreds of journals that contained thousands of interesting experiments, each one examining a specific question in a logical manner. Why couldn't life be more like science? I was at my best in that world. It would be so much easier if every action were designed to gather evidence that could be analyzed against a theory. That was how my brain worked. Emotion needlessly complicated things for me. If my relationship with Bella were an experiment, it would be easier to unravel its complexities. I would have hypotheses to guide me through the maze of interplay, and the evidence collected would provide proof to base my conclusions on. It would be everything I'd need to understand my reaction to Bella implicitly.

That was the _only_ thing I was truly sure about – that I wanted to understand the effect she had on me. Whether I wanted to do anything about it, let alone advance things between us romantically, remained to be seen. I didn't think I would know what I wanted to do, with any clarity, until I had the understanding I was after.

Facts being what they were, my proclivity to social ineptness was the biggest stumbling block in any interaction with Bella. I was lousy with social conventions - continually doing or saying the wrong thing. I was bound to make those same mistakes with her, but if I could find a way to make their meaning less significant, then maybe I could explore whatever was between us without causing either one of us discomfort.

Bella didn't seem to mind that my social skills weren't polished. She claimed to suffer from the same affliction, but she was merely being humble. She was actually quite intuitive when it came to dealing with my eccentricities, sensing my awkwardness and smoothing out the bumps, without ever being asked to.

We were different in that way. I was an analytical problem solver, she, an intuitive one. My thinking advanced one step at a time, while she was able to perceive the whole problem at once. We would make a good pairing, in terms of analysis.

I liked the idea of the two of us as a team, working together towards a common goal. Our individual strengths were complementary. They would compensate for our respective shortcomings. My logical side would balance out her emotional one.

In truth, she could probably teach me a lot about emotion. She was well suited for the task. She was patient, compassionate, positive and encouraging – all of which were important qualities in a teacher. She also had a willingness to help others and an understanding attitude. But in order to help me, she'd have to have an open mind, as well.

I recognized that the notion of asking for someone else's help to understand my own emotions was strange. I just didn't know how to get to the bottom of this situation without assistance, and who better to aid me than the girl who brought it all out in me?

Of course, explaining my line of reasoning to her was out of the question, not in its current context anyway. Labeling what I felt before I understood it better would send a mixed message to Bella. I didn't want to change her expectations or the nature of our friendship prematurely.

I decided to look at the situation with Bella as if it were an experiment. After all, I needed to test my reaction to her, to substantiate and replicate it to authenticate its longevity and magnitude. The only way I could see accomplishing this was through some sort of physical relationship.

I admit I wasn't sure exactly how physical we'd need to get to understand things. I didn't know if a simplistic touch could arouse the same feelings in me as a kiss or how my reaction to Bella might change with increased intimacy. I already had several questions that I wanted answers to, and the number would likely multiply as our physical relationship progressed. I was never one to turn away from the opportunity to learn, and my curiosity about sex was as healthy as the next guy's. There had to be something to it or why would kids risk parenthood and communicable diseases for a thrill that was easily served by masturbation? Not that I thought things between Bella and me would necessarily get as far as intercourse, or needed to.

She had told me she was interested in sex. Maybe her desire to explore a sexual relationship would be enough of a draw for her to agree to what I was considering asking her. I was willing to agree to sex if that were something she required, plus it would give me the chance to explore it too. If we could both agree to the parameters upfront, we'd be going in with our eyes wide open - no coercion or manipulation. It would be a safe environment to explore sexual behavior and activities. If I got to a point where I felt I'd learned all I could or became uncomfortable for any reason, I would terminate things; we both should be able to, in order to be fair and supportive.

Despite how bizarre my idea was, I couldn't help but wonder if she would agree to help me. She'd made it clear on the phone that she was willing to lend a hand if I ever needed it. She'd admitted to being open to and interested in a sexual relationship with the right person. I couldn't offer her the love she felt she required, but I could offer respect, security and trust.

Bella was intelligent, self-possessed, and more than capable of making her own decisions. It would be entirely up to her to decide what she wanted. I was more than open to discussing any concerns she might have, but I certainly wouldn't force her to take part in any way. She had to be free to choose, or nothing about the idea would work.

I was deep in thought when Bella tapped my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking at me with a worried expression.

"Yes, why?"

"Your knee has been shaking the table for the past ten minutes," she informed me.

"Is it bothering you?" I hadn't even realized I was doing it.

"Only if it means you're upset about something. If this is too much for you, we can just head out," she offered.

"It's not too much, I just need… your patience." I needed more than that, but her patience would at least give me time to figure out how to bring up my idea to her.

"Sure." She smiled nervously at me and then looked down at her book. I wondered what I'd said that bothered her.

"Am I asking too much?"

"No. I guess I just feel responsible for upsetting you. It wasn't fair to unload on you. I have trouble controlling myself when I talk about my mother. She's my Achilles' heel. You'd think I would have learned not to give a shit by now. I don't _want_ to care. I'd rather put all of the hurt she's caused my dad and me behind us, but it's impossible. My father still acts like she'll be back some day. He doesn't even seem angry with her for what she's done. I understand that he loves her, but he needs some perspective, not to mention some self-respect. Instead, he just goes on loving her and letting her hurt him every day."

"I thought you wanted to love someone like your father loves your mother?" I asked. I clearly remembered her telling me she thought the way her father loved her mother was beautiful.

"God, no," she insisted, unable to keep her revulsion out of her voice. "What gave you that impression?"

"You did. When we were waiting at the hospital, you said that when you fell in love, it would be for forever, just like your father."

Bella's cheeks burned scarlet. "I didn't mean to say that."

I wasn't sure why she was embarrassed. Her belief that once she fell in love, she would remain in love forever was of little consequence to me, and the fact that she'd shared it with me didn't seem worth getting upset about. "You also said that you thought love wasn't meant to be a part of your life."

"That sounds more like me," she murmured.

I found myself more curious than ever about her opinions on love and sex. Maybe it was because until she came back into my life, I thought I understood how I felt about both. Now, she had me questioning everything. "You defended love quite vehemently to me that night. You said that you wanted passion, devotion and adoration - something more than _ordinary _love."

"Are you trying to make me feel like an idiot?" she accused, glaring at me impatiently.

"Not at all. I'm simply trying to understand your viewpoint. I told you I thought love was a chemical reaction which our brains made into something more, and you told me that you didn't expect me to understand love because it wasn't logical or scientific."

"Well, it isn't," she concluded unconvincingly. "Not that I'd know what love is like. I'm not even sure I ever want to be in love. It has the power to ruin you."

I had assumed that Bella was searching for love after our conversation at the hospital, but maybe I was mistaken. The notion that it was of no interest to her leveled the playing field. She wasn't seeking an emotional connection, so there would be no disappointment if she didn't find one. It also meant that her expectations wouldn't have to change, despite any physical interactions between us. It could just be two friends helping one another. The only thing holding me back from sharing my idea now was whether she was still open to a sexual relationship.

"What about sex then?" I asked. My question caught her off guard. She swallowed the wrong way and choked.

"What about sex?" she sputtered between coughs, fighting to catch her breath.

"You told me that the only way you could give yourself to someone intimately was if you had total trust, and that you felt that sort of trust was only born in love."

She covered her face with her palms, and with tense fingers, she rubbed her forehead up and down a few times. She kept her face covered as she spoke. "So I suppose I mentioned that I was a virgin too?"

"You mentioned it. You also mentioned that you were interested in sex."

"Is there anything I _didn't_ tell you?" she asked sarcastically.

"I'm a virgin too," I offered. The fact seemed trivial when we spoke in the ER, but now it was entirely relevant.

She looked up at me with a slightly exasperated glare, finally removing her hands from her face. "You'll have to pardon my lack of enthusiasm. Somehow that little tidbit brings me no comfort."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about. Sex is a natural part of life. There is no reason that we can't discuss it as two rational adults," I asserted. We would need to be able to talk about it if she agreed to help me.

"Great." Bella laughed humorlessly, squeezed her eyes shut, and then shook her head.

"What?" I didn't understand her irritation.

"We can't talk about emotional things without upsetting one another, but you seem to think we should be able to talk about sex with no problem? Don't you think that's kind of strange?"

"I don't find it that strange, but I've never been what most people call normal." Normal was simply the most frequent behavior in a range of choices - not right or wrong, just more popular.

"I don't like the idea that you and I can only talk about impersonal things." Her voice was almost a whine, and I got the distinct feeling she wanted me to agree with her. I did, but probably not in the way the way she was thinking.

"You think sex is impersonal?" I challenged, knowing full well she thought the opposite.

"Now you're putting words into my mouth. I think friends should be able to talk about things that are important to them, especially personal things," she explained, her irritation settling her lips into a tiny pout.

"I agree in theory, but wouldn't sex fall under the category of personal?" I asked, steering the conversation in the direction I needed it to go.

"How personal can the topic of sex be between two virgins? We have no experience, no frame of reference, and zero chance of changing either on the horizon." She had a point, but I had a counterpoint.

"We need to create opportunity," I suggested.

"Excuse me?"

I swallowed hard, steeled my nerves, and introduced my idea. "A system of choices built on checks and balances, an experiment of sorts."

"I'm not following you," she said, her brow furrowed in confusion.

I knew this was all in the presentation. I had to find a way to relate it to her that would parallel her distinct thought process. "You believe that love and trust are the cornerstones of a sexual relationship, correct?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"What if we removed the notion of love from the table?" I proposed.

"I don't want to separate sex and love. I think they belong together." I expected this answer from her.

"I'm only suggesting a trial separation, nothing permanent."

"But if you remove love, what are you left with?" she wondered aloud. Her mind was open and curious. It was time to hit her with a more pointed idea.

"The question is whether two people who completely trust one another can share a fulfilling sexual experience without love being involved."

"Some people might be able to," she allowed.

"What if you and I were those two people?" I suggested, dropping the idea in her lap as gently as I could. Bella's eyes widened in shock. I gave her a moment to recover before I continued. "Obviously, it would have to be one hundred percent consensual, and I'm not suggesting we hurl ourselves headfirst into sex. I'm talking about a systematic path that would slowly build our comfort level and experience. Trust and respect are fundamental. Before we took any action, we'd have to agree on each step, and in order to remove the impediment of discomfort, we'd have to designate some kind of out, in the event that one of us changed our minds. No questions asked, of course."

"Of course," she sputtered sarcastically. "I mean you wouldn't want to feel awkward when having experimental sex."

"I've shocked you," I said, stating the obvious.

"A little," she admitted. "What you're suggesting isn't exactly what I meant when I told you I was interested in sex. In my mind, sex has always been about the connection between two people. Intimacy is supposed to mean something, isn't it?"

"Without experiencing it, how could either of us know?" I was being somewhat evasive answering her question. I knew, in theory, that intimacy was an important part of a physical relationship, but I believed that without experiencing it, the depth and importance of intimacy was virtually unfathomable.

"I don't even know if I'd be capable of something like this, Edward," she told me honestly.

"I don't know if I am either," I echoed. "Determining what each of us is capable of is all a part of the experiment. I might not be capable of anything more intimate than holding your hand. This is a learning experience, done with a safety net of trust and understanding."

"You make it sound so simple." She shook her head disapprovingly, while one finger traced the initials that had been carved into the tabletop.

"Not at all; it's the opposite of simple."

"Then why do it?" she questioned.

"We're both interested in exploring sex, but neither of us has an opportunity to do so. You believe fulfilling sex is based in love, and I think it's all based on technique. This experiment would answer that question and so much more," I defended passionately. "I'm so inexperienced that I don't even know how to kiss a woman properly. _You_ could teach me that. You could teach me how a woman likes to be touched by helping me to discern the subtleties. Think of how much we stand to learn about the intricacies of intercourse itself by avoiding the complications of an emotional connection. I doubt that most people in a conventional coupled relationship can openly discuss technique. The risk of damage to the ego is too high."

"What you're saying makes sense on some level, I guess, if I were interested in building a repertoire of sexual techniques, but I'm not. I want sex to be emotive. I want that connection." If for no other reason than her ardent belief in the subject, I expected her admission to cause her cheeks to flush. I was almost disappointed by the absence of color. It meant there was more going on than what she was admitting. It also meant that I had to work harder at selling her the idea.

"You said yourself that you believed love wasn't meant to be a part of your life. What if that's true?" I asked. "Why deprive yourself of the experience because of circumstance? What I'm talking about allows you to experience the sexual fulfillment you desire without painful emotional attachment or risk of rejection."

"It provides me with that in theory, but I don't think you're looking at the bigger picture here, Edward. You're not even comfortable with saying hello to me at school. This just seems like a recipe for disaster for us, and I would hate to lose the chance to be friends again by biting off more than we can chew."

She had a point about my comfort level. Just because I believed I could get over it with a slow paced effort, didn't mean that it wouldn't be an issue, but that was why I wanted an out in place. I didn't want to force anything on either of us. Plus, this was the only idea I'd been able to come up with that I actually felt comfortable with. Of course, she didn't know the underlying motivation for me to take part in this experiment either. "I know what I'm suggesting is very unorthodox."

"Very," she whispered. Her eyes caught mine and held them, searching for something. I'm not sure what she found, but her tone changed. "I'm not saying no, but I'm not saying yes either. I need to think about it more."

"Of course," I agreed. She had every right to dissect the idea. The fact that she hadn't given me an outright 'no' left me feeling ridiculously positive.

"It's getting late. I should probably head out," she announced.

I'd been very selfishly monopolizing the conversation. I certainly didn't want her to think she had to leave to change the subject. "We don't have to talk about it any more if it's bothering you," I blurted.

She smiled warmly at me. "It's not that. I really do have to go. I've got to get home to make dinner for my dad."

"Oh," I said, feeling a little disappointed that our time together was over.

"Don't you have to get home for dinner?" she wondered.

"I'm on my own most nights," I said absently, preoccupied by my worry that I should convince her to take part in the experiment before she left or the opportunity might be lost.

"Would you like to eat at my house tonight?" she asked politely.

Having dinner with her was pointless. We couldn't talk about the experiment in front of her father. "Perhaps some other time, when your father is expecting me. Besides, you've probably had your fill of conversation with me for today."

"You're more than welcome to come," she insisted, closing her textbook and looking up at me. "I'm sure my dad wouldn't mind, but if you'd rather not, I understand. Maybe next time."

I watched as she packed up her things, mentally scrambling for something to say. She'd left the door open for further discussion about my idea, and I felt an urgency to capitalize on her indecision.

"I apologize if I offended you with my idea, Bella. You can see now why I said that some things that come into my head are better left there. It's this place," I explained. "When I get around the scientific journals, I start to think in terms of hypotheses and variables, and I get carried away."

"You didn't offend me, and I think the fact that your mind gets inspired when you're surrounded by knowledge is pretty cool," she said, her voice shyly quiet.

"Really?" I asked.

"Really," she assured me. "Thanks for this afternoon. I'm glad that we had the chance to catch up a little bit."

"I am, too. I found it much easier to talk with you than I do with most people." I smiled widely at her to convey my enjoyment.

With a soft smile, she got up to go. I quickly gathered my books so I could walk out with her. Even though I was intent on continuing our conversation, the quiet of the library forced our silence. The awkwardness I normally felt had returned by the time we reached our cars, and I struggled to find the words to say goodbye. I was uncomfortable not knowing what she was thinking about what I'd proposed. An idea struck, far less unorthodox than my previous.

"I was planning to go for a run after school tomorrow, from my house to Tillicum Park and back. Did you want to join me?"

She accepted my invitation. Maybe I would be able to convince her of the value in my proposed experiment tomorrow.

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**A/N:** Reviews are not better than experimental sex with Aloof Geekward, but they might get you to that lemon faster ;) Just click the review button and make me smile!


	6. Why Not Just Pay A Prostitute?

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

Ginormous grateful thank yous to my betas **Scorp112** and** LightStarDusting**. I couldn't have two better sources of support. You have these two to thank for making the story sparkle.

I also wanted to say thank you to** amcas** for rec'ing this story on her blog and for the banner she made. I'm so honored!

Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I love hearing from you guys and sincerely appreciate the support. Keep it up!

Without further adieu…

* * *

**Chapter 6: Why Not Just Pay A Prostitute? **

**EPOV**

The school day dragged endlessly. I was anxious for it to end so I could start my 'hard sell' with Bella. Perhaps my experiment wasn't the best solution, but it was the only approach I'd thought of that could actually help me figure out exactly how she made me feel. I selfishly wanted to make her see the merit in it. Of course, it wasn't without benefits for her, as well, and bringing them to light would strengthen my argument. She was meeting me at my house for our run, so I raced home to beat her there. I was stretching in the living room when she knocked at the front door.

"Did you buy that just for today?" I asked as I let her in. She was wearing proper running gear: a lightweight jacket and three quarter length running tights. "Or do you run regularly?"

"Hello to you too," she greeted in a sarcastic tone. She shook her head at me as she walked past me. "I don't run _that_ often. I bought these for the days we run in gym because I didn't want to freeze my ass off in shorts. I get cold easily-"

"Because of the rain," we said in unison. I smiled as she laughed, hoping it meant that she was in a good mood.

"I was just stretching," I explained, settling back into my spot on the living room floor to stretch my hamstrings. The open concept room allowed me to see Bella perfectly from where I sat. She remained in the foyer, her hands pressed against the wall for support as she stretched her calves. I'm not sure what I hoped to perceive. My quiet scrutiny hadn't helped me to discern much of anything so far, but I studied her anyway. Her eyes darted to mine, her expression betraying her annoyance, but I didn't look away.

I was working on my lower back and hips when she joined me on the floor. I liked it better when she was across the room. It made observing her less obvious.

"You're quite flexible," I mumbled, noticing how flat her back was as she bent forward and held her toes with both hands. She acknowledged my comment with a snicker. "What are you laughing at?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You," she answered in an almost outraged tone. "Do you think I sit around every day doing nothing?"

I assumed her question was rhetorical and shrugged. "I don't remember you being particularly athletic."

She huffed exasperatedly. "And I don't remember you being over six feet tall or having problems with speaking before you think. People change, Edward."

Ignoring her bitter tone, I asked, "What do you mean 'speaking before I -think?'"

She was staring at me with an incredulous expression on her face. "I mean you're being rude," she informed me flatly.

"I am?" I was mystified. Somehow I'd already managed to piss her off, and I wasn't sure how I'd done it.

She got to her feet, her hands coming to rest on her slender hips. "Look, the last time you really knew me, I was ten. I played with dolls, thought the sun and moon rose and set around my father, and my biggest aspiration in life was to marry one of the brothers from Hanson. I think it's safe to say that you need to forget everything you knew back then and get to know who I am today."

"You liked Hanson?" I kept my face expressionless and held my breath, hoping I'd chosen the right way to lighten the mood.

"I was ten! And you're totally missing my point here." She laughed as she sidestepped my accusation. I was relieved that my unintentional rudeness hadn't done any permanent damage to her disposition.

"It's very easy to push your buttons." I smiled, unable to contain my amusement.

"Haha, very funny… You're a regular comedian."

I was about to try my hand at another joke when Bella put an end to my teasing without meaning to. She lifted her leg to stretch her quadriceps, and the pale skin of her calf caught my attention. As she pulled her foot into her body and held it there, I followed the motion with my eyes. Before I knew it, I was flat out staring at her ass. She'd rendered me speechless without saying a word - or rather, her ass had. My body reacted instantly. I turned my back to hide my unfortunate situation and slipped by her. Waiting in the foyer, I gave her a chance to finish stretching and myself a moment to get my hormones under control.

When she was done and had re-joined me, I opened the front door for her, motioning her ahead of me. Of course, this put me behind her again, which was exactly the position I needed to avoid if I wanted to stay focused. Even if my brain didn't know what it wanted, there was no denying that my physiology liked the view.

I let Bella set the pace and fell in beside her light jog easily. I couldn't discern if she was merely focused or had something on her mind that was upsetting her. Her head was forward, her expression one of concentration. It was in stark contrast to her hair. She had her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, and it bounced buoyantly from shoulder to shoulder with each step she took.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked a moment later.

"Am I staring?" I knew I was, of course, but she hadn't looked in my direction, so there was no way she could know.

"Yes, I can feel you looking at me."

I corrected her. "You can't _feel_ someone look at you."

"Will you just tell me why you're staring?" she demanded impatiently, turning her head to glare at me like I'd affronted her.

I gave her a truthful answer. "I was watching your ponytail."

She stopped dead and turned toward me, grabbing my forearm to halt me. "Look, if you invited me just to make fun of me, then I can turn around and go home right now."

"That's not why I invited you, and I wasn't making fun of you." Obviously, she was feeling more sensitive than I'd realized.

She started to jog again, so I did too. "Then why are you watching my ponytail?" she asked cautiously.

"It looks so jovial the way it bounces," I answered sincerely.

"Edward, you are one of the oddest people I have ever met." Her tone rang with disbelief. Maybe our conversation at the library yesterday had bothered her more than she let on. At the very least, she doubted my ability to be truthful with her for some reason.

"Would you rather I lie about what I was doing?" I asked.

"No, I'd rather the things you do and say made sense to me."

"They make sense to me." Though unpretentious in its intent, it was an unpersuasive argument.

She huffed in frustration. "That's my point. It's bad enough that I have to figure out how a guy thinks if I want to be your friend. On top of that, I have to somehow understand how _you_ think, which is, by some strange twist of fate, even more bizarre than the average male."

"I disagree. You don't need to understand me to be my friend. I certainly don't understand you."

"You don't know women at all, Edward. We don't want to feel like a friend is making fun of us, and if we can't follow your thought process, we will never understand the difference between good natured teasing and meanness."

"I wouldn't be considered a friend if I was _intentionally_ being mean," I pointed out. "And I fully admit that I don't understand women. Why do you think I asked for your help yesterday?"

"To get a piece of ass," she accused, snickering. "You are male, after all."

"If it were only about sex, don't you think I would have tried a more direct approach?" As logical as my argument was, I had to work not to sound put off by her platitude.

"Maybe you thought you could hook me with your impressive brain power?" she suggested sarcastically.

"I wasn't trying to _hook you_." I rolled my eyes at her to reinforce the absurdity of her conjecture. "I was asking for your assistance. And I wasn't the only one who stood to 'get a piece of ass,' as you so eloquently put it."

With a sideways glance in my direction, she clarified, "Okay, you were the only one _looking_ for a piece of ass then."

I knew exchanging cheap shots with her was not going to help my case. As it was, her attitude was defensive and negative, not exactly the easiest frame of mind to argue her out of. Discouragement was creeping up on me. "I was looking to gain understanding in an area I know very little about, an area that is your expertise."

"Sex is not an area of expertise for me," she said curtly, her voice coming out in panting wheezes.

"Not sex, but rather the opposite sex, as in women." Frustration evident in my voice, I tried to explain why I thought she could help me. "I am not good at understanding emotion, and women are essentially emotional creatures, are they not?"

"Not entirely. We have brains, and occasionally we even use them."

"Why are you being so sarcastic, Bella? I'm not putting women down. I'm asking a woman for her opinion and input."

The pace of our run was increasing with the intensity of our conversation. Bella was having trouble talking through her ragged breathing.

"No, you're not. You're trying to drag me into the middle of something because of some comment I made to you when I was drugged. You're twisting something that should be a natural extension of two people's feelings into an extracurricular activity." It seemed like she was hiding something behind the edge in her voice, maybe transferring hurt feelings from a different situation or testing me to ferret out my intentions. She'd been so calm at the library when I first brought it up. Something had drastically changed her outlook.

"So you're not interested in sex then?" I asked, wondering why she was angry. I didn't dare ask, for fear it would only make her angrier.

"I'm not interested in sex for the sake of sex." She glared at me with an indignant expression.

"This would be sex for the sake of learning, if it even got that far. I think we both agree that we don't know exactly what we're capable of." My voice was quiet and reserved as I gave her a gentle reminder that I wanted to start simply and move slowly.

Like she hadn't heard me, she barked another gibe. "If you want to learn about sex, you should watch porn. I hear that's what most boys your age do."

Her comment was as tasteless as it was insulting, and I couldn't hold back my anger. "That's what sex is to you? A woman screaming to be fucked harder while a man penetrates every hole on her body and then comes on her face? That's not emotional, that's borderline abusive!"

Her voice was strained and quiet, but even my anger wasn't enough to stop her from making another assumption. "That's not what sex is to me, but I'd bet most guys would love to do a woman that way."

"I may not want the emotional entanglements, Bella, but I certainly don't want that. That sort of sexual experience would give me no pleasure whatsoever."

The pace had become too much. Bella stopped running and bent forward, resting her hands on her knees to support her upper body while she caught her breath.

"I thought I understood you, Edward, but I give up. You don't want emotional sex, and you don't want fucking. I don't have a clue what you're after with this crazy experiment."

I tried to bury my frustration. At least she understood what I didn't want. Now, I had to make her see what I hoped to gain. "I want exactly what I tried to explain, to explore sex within the bounds of a trusting and understanding union, with no emotional attachments to complicate matters."

"Why?" she demanded between breaths. "How can what you're after be much more than glorified masturbation?"

"I can't answer that without experience," I told her honestly. "I suspect there is more to sex than orgasm, or no one would partake in it when masturbation is so much more convenient."

"Why not just pay a prostitute then, for the sake of science, of course?" I couldn't determine if her question was sarcastic or serious, and her expression gave nothing away. She waited silently for my reply, her deep brown eyes unrelenting. I decided to take her seriously.

I sidestepped her question a little, knowing I couldn't be completely honest about the thoughts in my head without hurting her. That was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I concentrated on what I knew to be true. "I'm fairly sure that _performance_ is dependant on a stress-free environment, and you know I'm not socially comfortable around most people. I can't do this with someone I don't trust."

"So you need me?" she asked.

"In a matter of speaking, yes."

"For sex?" Her qualification made me squirm. Even I understood how crazy it sounded when I heard her speak the words.

"I need a friend, someone who understands me and is willing to take a chance on me." I was uncomfortable admitting this aloud, as if it somehow exposed that her kiss made me feel something, but some part of my sentiment hit home with Bella. The disbelief in her expression melted away.

"The way you took a chance on me," she said quietly.

I didn't follow her logic. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes shifted to her feet, her voice shameful. "With Mike."

What I was proposing had nothing to do with Mike. I certainly didn't want her shame to play any part in our interactions, especially since she'd done nothing to be ashamed of in the first place. "I helped someone who was being taken advantage of, which isn't the same thing. That's not what this is about, Bella. You don't owe me this as payback. If you're in because you want to try, that's one thing. If you're only considering this out of some misplaced sense of duty, then rethink it. It's going to be a big enough challenge with both of us as willing participants. Antipathy will make it an albatross."

Bella didn't look up at me or respond in any way. The dead air effectively put an end to our conversation. I didn't know what else to say or how to smooth things over. Bella kicked at the ground with her toe and shifted from foot to foot, making it clear with her body language that she was uncomfortable. I finally asked her if she wanted to turn around and head home.

As we ran in silence, I tried to read her expression, but the thoughts behind it were a mystery to me. It should have been simple to ask her to tell me, but it wasn't. I was worried I'd pushed too far and asked too much. This was so much more complicated than I wanted it to be.

Bella stopped beside her truck once we reached my house. I stopped too, still unsure about what to say. I watched as she fiddled with her keys, futilely willing the right words to come to me.

"I guess I'll see you at school," she said as she unlocked her truck.

I felt a rush of panic. Our unfinished conversation had left things between us kind of raw. I didn't want her to leave until we'd resolved the discomfort. "Would you like to come in? I know you don't like the cold. I could make us some hot chocolate."

"I think it's better if I go." She didn't seem sad or upset or even angry any longer. I absently wondered if she knew how confident she sounded, like she was sure that leaving was the right thing for her to do. Maybe it was.

"I don't want you to go," I told her honestly. "Not with things as they are; not yet anyway."

"Things as they are?" she asked quietly, like she had no clue what I was referring to.

"You're angry with me, and I don't want to you to leave with so much tension between us."

"You're allowed to have your own opinions, Edward, and they're not always going to mesh with mine." She smiled softly at me. Her logic was spot on, but it did nothing to relieve me of the urgency I was feeling.

"I know, but I've hurt your feelings, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. Please give me a chance to make it up to you." As I spoke, I tried to work out in my brain why it was so important to stop her from going home. The desire seemed too intense to be due to our disagreement, her reluctance in regard to the experiment, or any resulting rift between us. I decided it was a result of all three.

"Okay, one drink."

Though her agreement was reluctant, relief washed over me. I showed her in and took her jacket, suggesting she take a seat in the living room. Instead, she followed me into the kitchen and settled herself on one of the stools at the island while I busied myself with making hot chocolate. While I waited for the kettle to boil, I put some cookies out on a plate and set it on the counter in front of Bella. She watched me shyly as I moved about the kitchen, putting things away and cleaning up after myself. I would have paid someone hard cash to know what she was thinking.

"Be careful, it's hot," I warned, putting two steaming mugs down on the counter and sitting on the stool beside her. She smiled at me in thankful understanding. Carefully bringing the mug to her mouth, she blew on the top of the liquid. The action brought an unfamiliar tightening in my chest that made no sense to me, only serving to make me feel more self-conscious.

"Thanks. This is good. You seem to know your way around the kitchen pretty well." Her hands cupped her drink, absorbing the warmth the hot liquid transferred to the mug.

"My mother taught me. She wanted me to be able to take care of myself when she was away." The kitchen was one place my mother and I always seemed to connect. The food, the preparation, even the clean up was a part of our comfortable routine. We worked in quiet harmony when we cooked, a synergy we found in few other places apart from music.

"Is she away a lot?" Bella asked quietly. As if she were studying her surroundings, her gaze drifted around the kitchen, but it was obvious to me that she was trying to disguise her curiosity, being purposefully cautious in case the subject was a touchy one for me. It wasn't.

"Yes. She's touring right now. She's a pianist with the Seattle Symphony Orchestra." I smiled warmly. My mother's musical accomplishments were something I was very proud of.

"Like mother, like son, I suppose?" Her tentative assumption made me realize she did not remember our prior conversation about this topic.

"I'm not nearly as talented as she is," I answered honestly. A gift like my mother's was rare, and while I was blessed with ability, I did not possess the consuming passion for music that she did.

"I wondered if you played when I saw the piano in the living room. You've got such long fingers." She'd made the same observation in the parking lot the night she'd been drugged. I bit my lip to keep from chuckling.

Bella moved her hand beside mine. It was tiny in contrast – feminine, delicate and overwhelmingly appealing. The force of the feeling inundated me.

"Your hand looks so petite next to mine," I mumbled. I didn't understand my reaction, to a _hand_ of all things. Could she hear my marvel in my voice, if that was even the right word to describe the feeling pulsing through me?

"It's why I can't play. Stubby fingers trip on the keys." Her matter-of-fact tone snapped me out of my head.

"That's nonsense. Your piano teacher didn't tell you that, did she?"

"No, my mother." I had come to expect the hint of sadness in her tone and expression when the subject of her mother came up, but I still hated it. A mother was supposed to be nurturing, not a source of negative emotion.

"Your mother was wrong. You just need the right technique to compensate."

"Really?" Her eyes were wide and surprised. It bothered me that she'd been told she wasn't capable of something.

"Sure, let me show you." Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the living room. It wasn't until I let go of her to pull out the piano bench, that I realized I had been holding her hand. It had been entirely comfortable. I dare say it was even natural, or at least what I assumed natural should feel like. This surprised me. I wasn't expecting it to be so easy. I offered the bench to Bella and waited for her to sit down.

I sat down beside her, letting my hands rest on the keyboard. "You have to remember that playing the piano is a physical experience. You don't just use your fingers. Posture is so important – a straight back and loose, low, relaxed shoulders." I rolled my shoulders back to emphasize my point. "Where you sit is important too. If you sit too close to the keys, you restrict your movement, and if you sit too far away, you won't be able to use your body weight to influence your playing. Right now, you're too far away, but this is perfect for me. See how my forearms are almost horizontal? That's what you want, or a slight slope towards your hands is fine too."

Bella nodded and smiled. She was paying very close attention to me, and it pleased me that she was so interested.

"Next is your hands, and I suspect this may be where your teacher failed you. Just because your hands are small, doesn't mean you can't play effectively. You just have to remember that all of your fingers are a different size and shape, so you have to position them properly to make each work equally well. Put your hands on the keyboard."

"You want me to play?" she asked uneasily, casting a fearful glance in my direction.

"No, I just want to see how you hold your hands." I smiled encouragingly.

She spread her fingers across the keys and looked up at me timidly. "I haven't played in a long time."

"The way you're holding your fingers right now, with your knuckles sloping down toward your pinky fingers, doesn't leave your smaller, weaker fingers room to play. Your knuckles need to be level and your fingers slightly rounded, almost like your hand is cupped." She adjusted her hands and looked for my approval. "That's right," I praised. "You just need to relax your wrists. They should be a tiny bit lower than your hands." I moved my hands to her wrists and adjusted their position. I tried very hard not to react to the tingling in my fingertips where they met her skin.

"I guess I'm out of practice," she mumbled, sounding embarrassed. She needn't be. Given what her mother led her to believe about her skills, it was a wonder that she was still interested in the piano.

"You're doing fine," I said supportively. "You just need some time for it to come back to you."

She looked down at the keys. Her voice was quiet and unsure. "Would you play for me?"

"What would you like to hear?" I was curious if she had a favorite composer or piece. I could probably play it if she did.

"Anything. You choose."

My fingers drifted over the keys with ease, translating the notes my mind knew by heart. It was my mother's favorite song, and I hoped that Bella might like it too. She watched my hands, paying careful attention to the way they moved. She was smiling by the time the music came to a close.

"That was beautiful, so much better than anything I've ever attempted."

"You can thank my mother," I told her. "It's her favorite."

"If I ever meet her, I will." Bella's cheeks reddened slightly. It made me excessively curious to know what she was thinking.

"I think she'd like to meet you," I confided. Bella was exactly the sort of friend my mother would want for me. Beyond her obvious character strengths, Bella's kindness and goodness would bring her into my mother's good graces within minutes.

The idea made Bella blush even more profusely. She looked up at me through her lashes. "Is she gone all weekend?"

"My mother?" I asked, momentarily distracted by her gaze. "She'll be home on Monday for a few days."

"She lets you stay home alone while she's gone?"

"For the most part." Technically, I wasn't by myself. "My neighbors Carmen and Eleazar look in on me while my mother is away."

"So you're free tomorrow?" she clarified, wrapping the hair of her ponytail around her hand absent-mindedly.

"Yes, why?" I couldn't connect anything, not her blush or her questions. My mind spun in circles trying to figure out what she was getting at.

"I was hoping we could get together. We should talk about your experiment if we're going to make a go of it. Trying is all I can promise, at least until we talk. Are you in?" She stared at me, waiting for me to answer, her expression a cross between sincerity and warmth.

"Definitely," I agreed. After the disastrous conversation during our run, I was sure the experiment was dead in the water. Though she hadn't entirely agreed to take part, the fact that she was willing to discuss it at all left me feeling hopeful.

She smiled and got to her feet. "I'll bring dinner. Say about six?"

"Sounds good." Better than good, it sounded like the opportunity I'd been hoping for. As I watched her drive away, it dawned on me that tomorrow couldn't get here fast enough.

* * *

**A/N:** So where do you think it's going from here? Click the review button and let me know!


	7. I Wanna Hold Your Hand

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

Once again, **Scorp112** and** LightStarDusting**, my wonderful and talented betas, have lent their brilliance to this chapter. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I feel incredibly lucky to have their help and guidance.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. The story picked up a number of new readers with this last chapter. I'm not sure how you found the story but I'm glad to have you here.

* * *

**Chapter 7: I Wanna Hold Your Hand**

**BPOV**

It was Saturday, three in the afternoon, and I was still in bed. Edward was the first thing I thought of when I woke up, and I'd spent the better part of the last seven hours trying to figure out how to handle things with him. I'd been up and down every argument - both for and against his experiment - debated the pros and cons, and scrutinized every reason why I shouldn't do it. Though perfectly aware of the potential for disaster and the enormous obstacles that stood in front of me, it all came down to a single question: would I regret not taking the chance to get closer to Edward? And the answer was always the same - yes.

I'd had a crush on Edward from the moment we met on the playground. I was five years old the day Bobby Higgins pulled my ponytail and took my favorite hair ribbon. When I demanded he give it back to me, he shoved me down to the ground. Bobby was cruel and spiteful, so my tears didn't faze him a bit. He just laughed and called me a baby. Edward appeared out of nowhere, like a hero in waiting, all messy-haired and green-eyed. He helped me up, walked me to the office, and stayed with me until I stopped crying. He was kind, thoughtful and gentle – everything that Bobby wasn't. During the last recess that day, Edward brought me my satiny blue ribbon, his lip split and bleeding, but grinning in spite of himself. I kept that ribbon safely tucked away, and whenever I needed to feel like I mattered to someone in the world, I pulled it out and held it. He saved me that day, and a few times since.

It hurt when our friendship fell apart. I tried to apologize for what happened in the park and explain about my parent's divorce, but he wouldn't speak to me. Day after day, I attempted to tell him I was sorry, but each time I did, he'd tell me the same thing: _We can't be friends; you're better off without me_. His words never made sense to me. I needed his friendship more than I ever had before; it was the one thing I counted on to be the same in my life when everything else had changed. After a month of trying, Edward asked me to flat out leave him alone. He told me that he didn't want to be my friend. He told me that we had never been friends and never would be. It was the one time I needed him to save me that he didn't.

I watched helplessly from the sidelines as Edward pulled away from everyone, including me. He was absent from school for long periods of time. I never understood why, and there was no one I could ask for an explanation. At the time, it just made me miss him more. It made sense in hindsight, now that I knew about his father's death and his mother's job, but my heart still ached for him. He shouldn't have had to deal with his father's death alone. If only I'd known, I would have tried harder to get him to forgive me. Though there was nothing I could do to change what happened now, I still hated the way it made me feel.

The sane part of my brain recognized that Edward's experiment was outrageous. It was just the sort of thing I would expect from him, though. He didn't think the way most people did. The idea made sense to _him_, and that was as far as his brain questioned it. I knew that I was foolish for even considering his request, but I also knew that it might be my only chance to get close to Edward in a romantic sense. He was introverted and socially inhibited. He didn't relate well to his peers - girls especially. A tiny part of me, the same part that was saved by Edward all those years ago, held onto the hope that I could be something to him other girls couldn't. It was probably short-sighted of me to think that way; it was self-indulgent and pompous, if nothing else.

I wasn't deluding myself. I knew that if I took part in his experiment, I might as well be signing a contract for heartbreak. Edward was very clear about the fact that he wasn't looking for any kind of emotional attachment. I, on the other hand, had always felt an attachment to him. It began the moment he returned my ribbon to me, and that attachment would surely strengthen if our relationship became physical. As much as I wished to remain unaffected by him, it just wasn't in me to be unemotional. The question for me was whether or not the payoff of Edward's affection would be worth the pain.

It was rather ironic that Edward thought his offer was risk free; he was unknowingly ensuring my heartache with his plan. I wasn't blaming him. My feelings were my responsibility, and if I decided to take part in the experiment, the resulting heartache would be my responsibility, too. My reasons for considering Edward's plan might be screwed up, but my perspective was flawless. Having a mother who was absent by choice and a father who'd ruined his life waiting for her to come back had taught me to be accountable. It was too easy to blame someone else for the things we did to ourselves.

A part of me wondered what would happen if he knew what I felt for him. Would he reject me? Would he even enter into the experiment in the first place? In essence, my feelings for him nullified his entire hypothesis. Ours could never be a relationship without emotional complications. My emotions would affect every touch we would ever exchange. That's not to say that Edward couldn't remain unemotional; I was quite sure he could, and his ability to do just that would likely break my heart in the end.

So, if I moved forward with Edward, it would be with my eyes wide open and perhaps void of my sanity.

I forced myself out of bed and headed straight to the shower. If I was going to play Russian roulette with my heart, at least I could look good doing it. After washing my hair, I used the diffuser and finished it with the curling iron. The end result was a head full of tame, silky curls. In the back of my mind, I knew it was all in vain. Edward didn't notice things like pretty hair, but it was important to project a confident image, even if I was faking it on the inside. I dressed comfortably, in jeans and a long sleeve tee, and grabbed my hoodie on my way out the door.

I drove to the only Chinese restaurant in Forks. Something told me Edward wouldn't be impressed with chicken balls and fried rice, so I'd called in the day before and asked the owners for some food recommendations. They knew me well and didn't mind helping me plan the meal. After paying and leaving a generous tip to say thank you, I headed to Edward's house.

It was still early when I arrived, so I stayed in the car for a few minutes, thinking about the consequences of the choice I was about to make. As strange as Edward's idea was, I had to take the chance to be with him. It was what I'd always wanted. Deep down, I think I always knew I would do it; I just needed time to come to terms with my decision.

Just like every other experiment, ours needed a purpose, so we'd know what we were trying to accomplish and why. Edward's purpose was a safe sexual experience with someone he trusted that allowed him to learn proper technique through hands-on experience. His purpose supported his hypothesis - that satisfying sex was all technique and independent of emotions. I could help Edward test his hypothesis, but the purpose of the experiment was drastically different for me. I would be testing what I'd always felt for him, to see what it was capable of making me feel. I would be working against Edward's emotional independence - challenging him on an emotional level to remain detached from the experience - and daring myself not to fall in love with him.

Like Edward said, it was an opportunity to learn, and I would learn exactly what my heart was capable of.

**~8~**

**EPOV**

Bella arrived a few minutes early. I didn't understand why she stayed in her car instead of coming to the door. Was punctuality _that_ important to her? When I finally saw her car door open, it set off a succession of feelings: first relief, then pleasure, and finally, acute anxiety. Much of my day was spent thinking about what to say and which angles to use to convince her to take part in the experiment. Now that the time had arrived, I wasn't at all sure I was going about things in the best way.

Waiting for Bella to ring the doorbell felt too formal, so I stood at the open door to greet her.

"Can I take the bag for you?" I asked, holding the door open for her. As she stepped inside, she handed me the bag and then shook the rain off of her umbrella.

"I've lived in Forks my whole life, but I'm still surprised by how often it rains in this place," she said, smiling at me and slipping out of her raincoat. As I reached for her coat, she slid the bag from my hand.

"I can take both," I assured her.

She shook her head and smirked, holding the bag to her chest. "Nope, my dinner, my rules. Just point me in the direction of the plates and sit your butt down."

I led her to the kitchen and opened the cupboard to show her the plates. She grabbed a couple and sat down at the island to unpack the bag. I got us some silverware and took the stool beside Bella.

"I brought Chinese, but not just any Chinese. I asked Mrs. Chan to make dim sum for us." She peered into the bag and pulled out a set of chopsticks wearing a big grin on her face. "You can't eat it with silverware. You've got to use chopsticks."

"A fork and knife are much simpler." I spun the fork between my fingers and smiled hopefully.

"Nonsense. It's easy once you get the hang of it." She demonstrated how to hold them correctly and then handed them to me. "You try."

I did my best to mimic the way she held the pair, but they felt clumsy in my hand. Bella took out another set and showed me again.

"You don't need to hold them so far down. I only do that because my hands are small. It's actually easier if you hold them further up." I made the adjustment but it wasn't enough for Bella's liking. "May I?" she asked, reaching for my hand so quickly that I barely had time to process the question. As if she knew I'd try to pull away from her, she gripped my fingers firmly and pulled the chopsticks further through them. "Like that," she told me. My attention stayed focused on the chopsticks in my grasp until I felt her index finger brush softly over my knuckles. "They're still not completely healed," she noted quietly.

My cheeks flushed almost instantly, although I wasn't sure if the cause was her observation or her touch. "I probably should have had stitches to close the cuts." I kept the fact that she'd suggested that very thing at the hospital to myself, not wanting to hear an _I told you so_. I hesitated for a moment before pulling my hand back from her. Bella rejected my retreat, extending her fingertips back to my knuckles.

"I heard around school that you actually broke his nose," she informed me, her finger tracing the dark marks on my skin. They were all that remained of my injury. My hand twitched, but she ignored it.

"It wasn't anything he didn't deserve." I knew I should feel remorseful, but I didn't. If anything, I felt justified. A right hook wasn't nearly enough retribution for what he'd done to Bella. Just thinking about it made me angry all over again. "Did you file charges against him?"

"No," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It would have been impossible to prove it was him." She retracted her hand suddenly. "I'm sorry you were hurt." Her forlorn voice was heartbreaking. It made me hate Mike all the more. I ignored the urge to ask her to explain her decision. She was still upset by what happened, understandably, and I didn't want to make her re-live it.

"What did you bring for us to eat?" I asked, intentionally changing the subject. There was no way I was going to allow what happened with Mike to set the mood tonight.

"Oh, I forgot to ask if you have a teapot? I brought some tea to drink with dinner." She was already on her feet, awaiting my answer.

"Right there." I pointed to a cupboard on the far wall.

She breezed across the kitchen and opened the cupboard, her eyes carefully scanning the shelves. The teapot was too high for her to reach, but she pushed up onto her tiptoes and stretched for it anyway. The elongated pose of her body was very picturesque - graceful and elegant. There was something captivating about the gentle curve of her hip and the way she balanced her weight on one foot. She flattened her palm against the countertop and stretched even further, letting out a quiet grumble of frustration. I'd been so caught up in studying her body that it wasn't until that moment that I realized how rude I was being. I slid out of my seat to help her.

"Let me get that for you," I murmured, pulling the teapot off the shelf and handing it to her.

"No short jokes!" she ordered, shooting me a sideways glance.

"No short jokes," I promised. "If it was safer to stand on one of the stools, I would have offered one to you. They're just too unstable."

"Yeah, me standing on a swiveling seat could only end one way - badly." She smiled a thank you and made herself at home, moving around the kitchen in punctuated bursts, inquiring where things were as she went. After using a pot to boil water, she finished making the tea while we chatted about some of the food she'd ordered. I took out two teacups.

"Those are pretty."

"My mother's china. We don't use it very often." I honestly couldn't remember the last time we'd used it.

"Why not?" She pulled a potholder out of the drawer in front of her and carefully moved the hot teapot over to the island.

"It's reserved for special occasions," I explained. "And with my mother's schedule, we simply don't celebrate many holidays at home."

"Should we be using it then?" She looked at me with a curious expression.

"I don't think she'd mind. In fact, if she were here, she'd probably have pulled it out herself." My mother cherished the set and loved to show it off. Many of the pieces had been wedding gifts.

Bella nodded and then carefully poured the tea. The only sound in the room was the light chinking of the teapot against the cups.

"Your hands are shaking," I noted quietly, wondering what on earth would have her trembling.

"It's nerves," she muttered. "I don't want to damage your mom's china." She was trying to disguise something with her tone, but it wasn't nervousness.

Once she finished pouring the tea, she picked up one of the containers. "I think you'll like these spring rolls. They're simple, nothing exotic."

Bella put a spring roll on my plate. I stared at it in perturbation while I tried to figure out how I was going to cut it using chopsticks. Bella giggled and held her spring roll up so I could see that she simply picked it up whole. I copied her, lifting mine to my mouth, and took a bite. It was quite good, a mixture of shredded pork and vegetables, with a subtle seasoning and sweetness. While I ate, Bella explained the flavors.

"Are you allergic to seafood?" she asked, opening the next container.

"No, why?"

She put something battered and deep-fried on my plate with a single word of explanation. "Squid."

I turned my nose up at it. "_That_ is disgusting."

"I know it looks a bit dicey, but the flavor isn't very strong," she promised, smiling at me encouragingly.

"It has legs." And probably tentacles. I didn't want to look too closely at it.

"So does a cow, and I don't hear you complaining about hamburgers." She raised one of her eyebrows in challenge and stared at me.

"I can't eat that." As much as I wanted my statement to sound convincing, it didn't. I could eat it. I just didn't want to.

"Stop being such a baby, and try one bite." She picked up a piece and waved it at me playfully.

I fumbled with the chopsticks, struggling to pick up the squid with them. Once I finally had a hold of it, I quickly popped it into my mouth before I could change my mind. The taste was relatively innocuous, just as Bella promised.

"It has a very chewy texture," I noted sourly.

"A little bit, but it's tasty, right?" Her enthusiasm was in direct opposition to my antipathy.

"Tasty is a _strong _word." A more apt adjective would have been nasty.

"You're a baby," she concluded, feeding herself another piece. "More for me."

I didn't argue with her label, especially since it meant she didn't expect me to eat more squid. She took her time eating a few more pieces before moving on to the next container.

"This is more seafood, but shrimp," she explained guardedly, glancing up at me while she held the container out so I could examine the contents.

"I like shrimp. They're much less threatening," I said with a smile.

"They're called 'har gau.'" She placed a dumpling on my plate and watched me as I picked it up and took a bite.

"_These_ I like." The skin of the dumplings was very thin, and they were stuffed with a filling made from chopped shrimp. It was a perfect mélange of delicate flavors.

Next we tried a steamed bun filled with barbecued pork. It was the oddest combination of ingredients that made for a delicious treat. The last dish was sticky rice cooked in a lotus leaf. I could taste hints of scallops, chicken and mushrooms, and I liked the crunch from the water chestnuts. For dessert we had mango pudding and Chinese steamed sponge cake. The pudding was silky and loaded with large chunks of fresh mango. The sponge cake was moist and delectable, and its coconut milk icing secured my vote for favorite dish of the night.

I refilled our tea, preparing myself to broach the subject of the experiment. The evening had been very lighthearted, and I was I reluctant to put an end to the ease.

"So I was thinking about your experiment," Bella said, pausing to take a sip of her tea.

"What exactly were you thinking about?" As soon as I asked the question, I regretted it. I braced myself for the worst.

"Mostly about what I should do," she told me quietly. She kept her eyes down, her gaze stuck on the teacup in her hands.

"Did you decide?" I held my breath, apprehensive about her answer.

"Sort of, I guess… but I have questions."

Questions were good. At the very least, they weren't a refusal to take part. "About what?" I asked cautiously.

"Before I agree to anything, I have to know what I'm agreeing to. I don't have any idea what your expectations are."

I breathed a sigh of relief; my expectations were an easy topic. "I haven't come up with a specific plan. It was something I assumed we would formulate together. As far as expectations, my biggest concern is that we're both comfortable, and I think by moving slowly we can ensure that. I thought we should begin with something simple and progress only if and when we both agree we're ready."

Her eyes flickered to mine. "What do you mean by _simple_?" she asked, unable to mask the wary expression on her face.

"I mentioned hand-holding. It seems like an appropriate jumping off point." I wanted to start with something that was entirely non-threatening to both of us. More than that, I wanted something we couldn't fail at. Success would set a precedent, starting the experiment off on the right foot and giving us a reason to continue toward something more intimate.

"Hand-holding is certainly simple," she agreed.

"I realize the action is extremely puerile from your point of view, but I've never had the experience. Plus, I believe it will be a good exercise to build our comfort level. What we're embarking on requires a great deal physical intimacy, so we need to be comfortable in close proximity. That's going to take some practice."

"I don't think it's puerile; it's kind of sweet," she remarked.

The tender tone in her voice made me self-conscious. "I wasn't suggesting it to be sweet," I corrected sternly.

"I know. I didn't mean to sound condescending. I like the way you're looking at things. I guess a part of me was expecting it to be a big rush to the finish. In my experience, it's always been about how far a boy can get and how fast he can get there."

"I'm not looking to rush you into anything you're not ready for," I told her honestly. "Nor am I doing this to have something to brag about. What goes on between us is private, and I intend to keep it that way."

"Maybe that's where we start then, by agreeing that anything that happens between us stays between us." Her voice was almost circumspect. I appreciated that she seemed to be taking this seriously.

"Agreed. The details of our experiment and any interactions between us will remain confidential."

"And I like the idea of building our comfort level," she added supportively. "I think holding hands is a perfect place to begin."

"Do you think we should set out targets of intimacy before we begin, so we both understand the steps and are on the same page in terms of goals?" I had a rough idea of how we might accomplish our task but was still curious about what Bella thought. I was equally afraid of scaring her away by saying too much, as I was with not being specific enough and having mismatched expectations.

"I guess it would be good to know how we're going to get to our intended end." She seemed hesitant, almost as if she had something else in mind.

"Did you have a suggestion?" I prompted.

"This is your baby. I figured you had some plan of attack in mind." She chewed on her lip absentmindedly, waiting for me to speak.

"While we were running, you mentioned pornography. I realize it's not the most _tasteful_ aid, but perhaps it might suggest some aspects of sex that we haven't thought of."

"You seriously want me to watch porn with you?" Bella cheeks were tinged with pink as she asked the question. I thought I could detect a note of disgust in her tone too.

"Just to be clear, I am by no means suggesting we mimic the acts themselves. I was thinking of it as a tool to generate ideas and help us determine an approach that suits both of us." It seemed logical to me, given our mutual lack of experience with sex.

"Kind of like everything I ever needed to know I learned by watching porn?" she asked, laughing nervously.

"Kind of, I guess." I tried to laugh at her joke, but it came out more like a demented huff. Bella's emotions were all over the map, and until she was sure about how she felt, there wasn't much I could do to ease her fears.

"I'm not sure I can watch it and ever look you in the eye again. Porn isn't made for women, let alone to be watched in the presence of a girl you have no romantic feelings for." She couldn't even raise her eyes to look at me while she admitted her aversion, and I couldn't tell whether she was embarrassed or disgusted.

"There is no need to feel awkward about watching with me, Bella. It's just another step in the process. Pornography is made to arouse the mind. The brain _is _the largest sexual organ in the human body."

"Pornography may arouse the mind, but I think it's intended to arouse something else," she spat sarcastically, covering her face with her hand for a moment. Maybe it was both embarrassment and disgust. "It's just too much too fast, at least for me. Maybe for tonight we could leave the experiment at the holding hands step."

I was about to agree when she unexpectedly reached across the counter and covered my hand with hers. I instantly stiffened. She tried to mask her panic when her eyes darted to mine but wasn't able to completely eliminate it from her expression.

My reaction was wrong, diametrically opposite to how I should have responded, especially given what I was asking of Bella with my experiment. Not to mention, I liked her touch, at least I liked the touch of her lips to mine. Her kiss was why she sat in my kitchen tonight. The way the touch of her hand had made me feel – alarm that made me subconsciously recoil - felt nothing like her kiss.

I couldn't think of anything sensible to say, despite how the situation screamed for elucidation. My reaction made no sense. I didn't understand it and therefore couldn't explain it. Bella stared down at the counter and off into space, looking anywhere but at me. It was a wonder she hadn't slugged me. I would have deserved it if she had. Maybe the silence was her way of theoretically punching me, forcing me to deal with the aftermath of my behavior alone. I selfishly wished she'd smooth things over between us. She was so much better at it than I was.

I was tongue-tied and so entirely paralyzed that all I could do was stare down at our hands. As I looked at them, it hit me that she hadn't pulled her hand away yet, even with my unacceptable reaction. It was still resting softly on mine. I stared at her hand in amazement. As if my body were on delay, I felt its warmth spreading across my skin. I concentrated and finally registered the sparkling of energy between her hand and mine. The tingling was sort of like the volume on a radio being slowly turned up, becoming stronger with each second.

I was sure she'd pull away any moment. It would have been the appropriate action given my lack of response, but she didn't. From the corner of my eye, I could see her staring at me, probably waiting for me to turn to her. I didn't. I just looked at our hands and braced myself for it to be over.

But it didn't end. So I didn't move, and neither did she.

I lost track of time as we sat there. My hand eventually relaxed, but every cell in my body was vibrating on high in preparation for Bella's withdrawal. I wasn't anticipating the gentle caress of her thumb as it brushed across my skin. The rush it caused in me was astounding - like it was the something I _needed_ but didn't know existed. It sent a shiver through me, a wave of coolness that rippled over my entire body and forced my relaxation. It was illogical that one small stroke of her finger could be so powerful, that it could leave me wanting more of the same - _more of anything_.

I persisted in my suspended state. I didn't know what to do to encourage her, nor did I wish to discourage her with the wrong action. I was afraid to even look in her direction and risk inciting questions I didn't know the answers to. I was inept, completely lacking in the simple skills I needed to interact positively with Bella, and the idea of simply asking for more left me feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. I waited anxiously, willing the movement of her fingers across my skin in vain. Her hand remained stubbornly still.

The more time that passed, the more I wanted to know what she was thinking. I glanced at her, only moving my eyes in her direction, and could see the look of quiet determination on her face. We were deadlocked, so I did the only thing I knew to break it and granted her the eye contact she was seeking. She smiled demurely. I barely heard the words that left her lips, focused instead on the slow movement of her fingers as they slipped across my skin.

"I have to go," she said softly.

I nodded stiffly, understanding that leaving was probably the most appropriate choice for her. It wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to stay right where we were, with Bella's hand on mine, and analyze what she'd brought out in me. I wanted to test whether she could do it again. I wanted understanding. I wasn't even above admitting I just wanted more – more contact, more opportunity, and hopefully more reaction, too. Though preferable, having all of my questions answered in one night wasn't possible, and Bella had been more than patient with me. I owed her a quick exit if she required one, but not without the next step.

"Would you like to get together tomorrow night?" I asked, my confidence wavering. Had my poor reaction caused the experiment irreparable damage?

"Sure," she accepted, smiling broadly. "Why don't you come to my house? I'll rent a movie for us."

"And I'll bring dinner." She'd done so much for me tonight. It was the least I could to repay her.

I walked her to the door, hesitating in the doorway until she'd driven off. Tomorrow I would have to be more prepared for her touch, but at least I knew better what to expect.

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**A/N**: Are you ready to kill Edward? Do you think Bella needs a slap to the back of the head? What is going on with these two? Just click that review button and give me your opinions.


	8. You'd Be Happy If I Was Never In My

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not re-post the story without authorization.

My sincerest apologies for the time between updates. The fault is completely mine. The busy holiday season kept me from getting the story to my betas in a timely fashion.

A huge thank-you to **Scorp112** and** LightStarDusting **for all of their input and awesome beta skills. I added to the chapter after they looked at it, so all mistakes are mine.

Lastly, thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I love hearing from you guys. It's wonderful to be able to discuss the story with people.

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**Chapter 8: I Think You'd Be Happy If I Was Never In My Comfort Zone**

**BPOV**

It would have taken Edward forever to make the first move, so I took the bull by the horns and jumped in with both feet. I knew he wasn't expecting me to hold his hand, but I had no idea it would fluster him so badly. He looked almost pained he was so uncomfortable with the physical contact, and that reaction was the _exact_ reason I doubted his ability to function in our experiment, why I'd questioned it to start with.

Every instinct I had told me to pull my hand away when he flinched, but I listened to my heart instead. Deep down, I knew he was just as afraid as I was, even if it was for a different reason. Besides, if I had pulled away, fear of rejection would have prevented me from ever trying to touch him again. Showing him that his quirks didn't get to me was important. I wanted him to know he was safe to be himself around me, even when his reaction was nonsensical or inappropriate. Leaving my hand on his was the _only_ way I could think of to show him that I was committed to finding a way to make things between us work. So, I couldn't pull away until he was comfortable. I just didn't have any idea that his comfort level was so far out of whack.

Thirty-seven minutes. That's how long it took him to relax. Twenty-two minutes for his hand to loosen up, and another fifteen minutes for him to look me in the eye. Talk about a boy too caught up in his own head! Even with all that time to mull things over, I don't think he understood what I was doing. His eyes were a brilliant, blazing green when they met mine - full of confusion and upset. I would have given almost anything to know what he was thinking, but it would have very likely blown up in my face if I had put him on the spot. Edward had a hair-trigger when it came to his ability to operate outside of his comfort zone. If I had pressed him for answers, he probably would have shut down completely, and that would have gotten me nowhere fast.

I couldn't resist wondering about Edward's reaction in that insane, masochistic way all girls do when it comes to figuring out the mind of a guy they have feelings for. Admittedly, I was the queen of reading too much into things, and I swore to myself I wouldn't do it with him, but the situation begged the question: How could an almost eighteen-year-old guy never have even held someone's hand? I'd seen so many girls at school throw themselves at him. Was he never even tempted? I wasn't thinking in terms of a relationship per se, but when pretty girls are offering free samples, why wouldn't he be like every other guy and take them up on it? Then again, if how he reacted to my hand was indicative of how he reacted in any situation with the opposite sex, then his lack of experience was completely understandable.

He probably didn't even know the power he wielded just in being Edward Cullen. Off the top of my head, I could think of a dozen girls that were interested in him. One flick of that bronze-haired head and he could have anyone he wanted. Edward's appeal went beyond his good looks. He was intelligent, kind and a tiny bit mysterious. He was the sort of guy you daydreamed about when you were a little girl, the one you planned on living happily ever after with. At least, in theory, he was. In practice, his aloofness and irritatingly logical thought processes made getting to know the _real_ Edward a challenging and potentially complicated operation. It was the one advantage I had over most everyone else. I'd gotten to know him before his father's death changed him, and I knew there was more to him than the isolated, detached person he'd become. He might not be that same boy that was once my friend, but all the makings of that boy were still there. I just had to wade through the awkwardness and discomfort to get to them.

As silly as it sounded, I still missed the person I once knew so well that I could finish his sentences. Life after Edward wasn't the same. _I_ wasn't the same. My parent's divorce left me confused and alone. Edward's absence only compounded those feelings. I was helpless to alter either situation, so I did the only thing I could do: I impatiently waited for something to change. While I waited, I watched - everything and everyone - including Edward. I kept my distance from him, faithfully respectful of his request to be left alone. He may not have wanted to be my friend, but I still cared about him and wanted to understand what was going on with him. Ultimately, watching became a habit – part of who I was – and Edward was a piece of the praxis. My comprehension of him was still incomplete, even after years of observation, but I was probably the closet thing to an Edward-Cullen-expert that existed.

Navigating the ebb and flow of interactions between us would be no small feat. Patience could only take me so far. I had to learn to think like Edward to avoid misunderstandings. There was no stopping my emotions, but I needed to do everything I could to keep them in check. If I let my guard down, it would be too easy to show him how much I cared. Edward would be totally overwhelmed by what I felt for him, and that would fuck up everything between us. I needed to keep my feelings hidden and focus on projecting the qualities that he needed to feel comfortable. On the outside, I would be patient and cooperative, allowing him some space to work through his issues. On the inside, I'd feel every touch and emotion, both positive and negative, and truthfully, I didn't want it any other way.

For so long, all I could do was hope that he'd be a part of my life again, and I certainly never thought I'd have the chance to become _more than friends_ with him. This was my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to reach out to him. No one had ever made me feel as safe and protected as he had the day he got my ribbon back for me. I wanted to return the gesture, to show him how deeply I cared for him and that I accepted him for who he was. I wasn't looking for a fairytale or a white knight. I wanted the _real_ Edward - the good, the bad and everything in between. It didn't matter to me that the relationship we were creating was imaginary. Everything he would make me _feel _during our experiment would be real, even if _we_ weren't. And maybe, if I gave him the best of me, he might remember the way he used to feel for me. I knew it was a long shot, but it was all I had. I was willing to risk my heart for a chance at his.

I was at a loss as I stared at the huge wall of DVDs at the video rental store. I had no clue what sort of movie Edward would like to watch. Dark comedy? Mystery? Suspense thriller? I would have preferred a romantic comedy to keep the evening buoyant, but something told me that a chick flick would only make Edward more uncomfortable. I wanted the night to be as easy going as possible, so I choose a thriller and a partly biographical war drama, hoping that one or the other would suffice.

After our bumpy attempt at hand-holding the prior night, it was important to make sure that Edward felt comfortable around me. That meant keeping the mood light and giving him some breathing space. I couldn't let myself stare at him, force him to talk to me, or pressure him in any way. Most especially, I had to keep my hands to myself. I'd made it clear last night that the experiment was under way. Edward would have to decide the next move on his own agenda.

My dad was working, so we had the house to ourselves all night. Truthfully, I was glad for the privacy. I didn't want him to know about Edward. He'd only tease me, or worse, pull some sort of over-protective father crap. We were all better off if Charlie was in the dark for as long as possible. It was none of his business anyway.

I made brownies to accompany the dinner that Edward was bringing. While they were baking, I found vanilla ice cream in the freezer and decided brownie sundaes were in order. Thirty minutes later, with homemade hot fudge sauce and whipped cream in my arsenal, my plan of attack was complete. If the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, then my bases were covered, and I would have some comfort food to fall back on if the night was a bust in every other way. Ice cream never ceased to make me feel better. Maybe it would do the same for Edward.

After I cleaned up the kitchen and living room, I headed upstairs to shower and change. The air was humid and unseasonably warm, so I opted for function over form, knowing what I wore would have no effect Edward. I didn't even bother to dry my hair. I just twisted it up off my neck with a clip. Wearing my hair up always made me feel pretty and sometimes, like today, kind of sexy. Though the hair itself might be lost on Edward, I hoped the way I was feeling would have some subtle effect on him. Edward was getting the classic version of Saturday-night-movie-watching Bella - laid-back, indulgent and a tiny bit audacious.

The awkwardness of last night's encounter felt a million light years away. I was actually excited for our night together by the time I heard the doorbell ring. I reminded myself to keep the night light as I made my way downstairs.

**~8~**

**EPOV**

I drove to Port Angeles to pick up dinner. Bella had found the _only_ interesting takeout in all of Forks, and I wanted to one up her, or at least try. I had an ulterior motive for choosing the meal that I was bringing, but I hadn't decided if I would share it with her yet.

The two hours of driving did me good. For whatever reason, when I got behind the wheel, my whole body relaxed like I was in some kind of vehicular decompression chamber. The stereo probably helped too, the louder the better. The cabin of the Volvo had excellent acoustics, and I tested them every time I took the car out by myself.

As I drove, my mind wandered but always came back to what happened with Bella. I felt like an ass when I replayed the events as I tried to fall asleep last night. I'd hurt her feelings when I stiffened at her touch; I'd seen the look on her face. I'm sure it made Bella doubt my commitment to the experiment, and why wouldn't it? My reaction was ridiculous. It wasn't representative of the way she made me feel - at least I didn't think it was - but I'd be the first to admit that I didn't understand what was going on inside of me.

She had every right to be angry with me for the way I reacted. Yet, despite my atrocious reaction, her hand never faltered. I still couldn't reason why she didn't pull it away. The patience she exhibited was exceptional, certainly more than the average person, and probably more than I deserved, given my faux pas. I felt both relieved and panicked after she left. The panic I understood. I would have preferred a second chance to react more appropriately before the night ended. The relief, however, confused me. It wasn't until much later that I connected it with the intentionality of her actions. It boded well for the experiment if that was the sort of composure and diligence she always put forth.

Our reactions were so confounding – both mine to her and hers to me. I found it perplexing that her kiss could cause me to feel one way, while her touch, a completely other way. The confusion stripped me of my confidence to the point that I was uncomfortable trusting my own instincts. It made no sense to me that I would feel panicked when she reached out for my hand, that it unsettled me so deeply that I couldn't get my wits about me. Surely attraction had a more positive effect than that on a person. Logically, that meant what I was feeling was not attraction, but that didn't explain the rush brought on by the sweep of her thumb across my skin. It was a more localized reaction than the bodily effect of her lips on mine, but my emotional response was more extreme, too. Maybe the emotion was just a result of relief that the caress didn't cause panic. Without more exposure to her touch, I would never know if my reaction was normal or a fluke.

Regardless of my confusion, I knew that I needed to do something to reassure Bella that she did not make the wrong choice to take part in the experiment. I wanted to make some kind of gesture, to go out on a limb to show her that my efforts were as invested as hers were. It didn't have to be grand, but it did have to be clear. I made a conscious effort to let go of my negativity with regard to the way I'd reacted when she touched me. In the grand scheme of things, it probably didn't matter, and even if it did, I couldn't take it back or change it in any way. To me, it made more sense to chalk it up to inexperience and being caught off guard, so we could put the awkwardness behind us. Besides, as pathetic as the notion was, I couldn't think of another explanation that made more sense.

I was exceedingly relaxed by the time I knocked on Bella's door. She opened it a moment later, smiling from ear to ear, and invited me in with a wave of her hand. She took my jacket and gave me a quick tour of her house. When she showed me the kitchen, I took the opportunity to re-warm dinner in the microwave.

"I figured we'd eat in the living room, if that's okay with you?" she asked. I nodded my agreement and followed her lead. She had two places already set out on the coffee table for us. "So what did you bring for dinner?"

"It's a surprise. I drove to Port Angeles to get it." I held up the bag so she could see it.

"Well it can't be anything too risky, or you wouldn't eat it," she decided, laughing.

"I ate your squid." Despite what she thought, I was quite proud of myself for trying every single thing she'd brought.

"One bite hardly counts as eating. It's barely a sample." Her smirk was playful. It was clear that she enjoyed teasing me.

"Regardless, tonight it's your turn to move out of your comfort zone," I declared boastfully. She laughed loudly and then covered her mouth with her hand. "What's so funny?"

"I'm pretty sure you were never in your comfort zone last night." Her statement was more of an affirmation than an allegation. As usual, her perception of me was dead on. It was disheartening that she saw me more clearly than I saw myself.

"Did you want to talk about what happened?" I asked resignedly, taking a seat on the couch.

"Only if you do." She shrugged noncommittally at me.

"I'm good… as long as you are?" I asked, unable to mask my disbelief. I was sure she'd want to discuss my reaction. Plus, if she had any concerns, it was better to get them out in the open.

"I'm good," she echoed with a smile. The honesty in her expression washed away my lingering doubts about the night before. For whatever reason, Bella was choosing to disregard my poor behavior. It was a comforting to know she wasn't going to dissect every single interaction between us. While a certain amount of reflection was required by the parameters of our experiment, deliberating over every detail would bog us down and choke our progress.

Bella sat down on the floor beside my feet. It struck me as a very odd thing to do, and my curiosity exploded. "Why are you sitting down there?"

She looked over her shoulder at me and giggled. "It's a long standing thing with my dad and me. I used to bug him to eat in the living room all the time. He would let me as long as I sat on the floor. Now it just feels weird to eat on the couch."

How strange, not to mention illogical. I didn't even try to hide my derision. "You do realize how ridiculous that sounds, don't you?"

"Don't be so close-minded," she chided playfully. "I like it down here, and I'm not making you sit down here with me…not that it would hurt you one little bit to try something new."

"Sitting on the floor is hardly new to me, Bella. I sat on the carpet in kindergarten just like everyone else."

"Did you seriously just compare me to a five-year-old?" She shot me a slightly annoyed glare. Though it was mostly in jest, I found her irritation amusing.

"You _are_ sitting with your legs crossed the way Mrs. Smith used to make us do," I pointed out, biting my lip to keep from smirking at her.

"Get your ass down here with me," she demanded. "It would do your smug behind some good to get in touch with your five-year-old self."

She reached for my hand and tried to jerk my weight in her direction. I resisted, locking my arms and planting my feet so she couldn't move me, knowing it would only goad her to try again. "I think you'd be happy if I was never in my comfort zone."

"I don't like to see you limit yourself by never trying new things," she explained. Using both hands this time, she pulled me to the edge of the couch.

"We've already established that sitting on the floor is not a new thing," I countered, chuckling. I knew I was being cheeky. She made it easy with her wide smiles and laughing eyes.

"You haven't sat criss-cross-applesauce in almost thirteen years, so you're out of practice. It will be like the first time." Her hands tugged me one last time, and I gave up the fight, letting her pull me down.

"Touché," I replied, settling down on the floor beside her. I began to unpack dinner, making room for the containers on the table before I opened them.

"It smells delicious," Bella noted. "What is it?"

"Moroccan. Start with these," I suggested, pointing at the briouat. Anxious for her reaction, I watched as she tentatively took one and raised it to her mouth to take a bite.

"It _is_ delicious! The dough is so crispy." She covered her mouth while she spoke, smiling as she attempted to hide her embarrassment for speaking with her mouth full.

"I'm glad you like it. They are one of my favorite things to eat." I took one for myself but ate very little, caught up in observing Bella's enjoyment of the pastry. I tried very hard not to stare, but her manner was engrossing.

"I've never had Moroccan food before."

"I'd be surprised if many people in Forks had." Forks wasn't exactly a mecca for international cuisine.

"Do you eat it often?" She peeked over at me with curious eyes as she brought the deep-fried triangle up to her mouth.

"Not so often anymore." Not for a long time actually. A very long time.

"Why not?" She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully as she waited for my answer.

I wasn't ready to tell her why but couldn't think of an appropriate substitute for the truth. Her expectant gaze made me feel nervous, and my fingers involuntarily picked at the pastry in front of me.

"Although I'm sure the hour's drive to the nearest Moroccan place would deter anyone," she suggested. When I looked over at her, I could see the understanding in her eyes. She knew I didn't wish to explain further. "What's next?" she asked enthusiastically.

"There's bread," I told her, pointing to the khoubz. "You can have some of that while I fix your food." I made a bed of couscous on her plate and then spooned the tagine over it. "Before you try this, you have to close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just trust me," I urged.

"You're not going to do anything gross are you?"

"Define gross." I had to bite my lip to keep from smirking. Sometimes she could be such a girl.

"Like making me eat a bug or something disgusting like that?" She grimaced at the thought. I couldn't blame her.

"No, Bella. I'm not cruel. Now, close your eyes." I waited patiently for her to give in to my request, and when she finally closed her eyes, I filled a fork with some lamb and held it up to her mouth. "Take a bite, but make sure you keep your eyes closed."

"You haven't told me why I have to keep my eyes closed," she complained.

"You'll understand in a minute."

She cautiously opened her mouth, so I moved the fork closer, hesitating as her lips caught my attention. Had they always been so pink and full? She took the food into her mouth and chewed slowly, leaving her eyes closed, like I asked.

"Cumin…and cinnamon." Her words were more of a question than a statement, but it was _exactly_ the response I wanted from her.

"Yes. What else?" I couldn't help but smile. She always seemed to understand what my point was, even when I didn't make it obvious.

"There's a hint of citrus that I can't place, and a tiny bit of spice."

"It's cardamom, and the heat comes from cayenne pepper."

She pursed her lips, contemplating the flavors. "Nope, it's not the cayenne that I'm tasting. It's more subtle…fresh ginger maybe?"

"Very good."

"And honey. The sweetness is honey," she stated decidedly.

I was still smiling when she opened her eyes. "Did you like it?"

"Very much. I've never tried anything like it before. It's earthy and comforting."

"You were very good at picking out the spices," I praised, spurred by her enthusiasm.

"Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

"Yes, but I didn't think you'd be able to do it."

"So you underestimated me?" she accused with a smug grin.

"I guess I did. The spices in the dish are rather unusual." I ran my hand through my hair, trying to fend off the sudden rush of self-consciousness. "How did you know what I wanted you to do? That's impressive. It doesn't happen for me very often."

"What doesn't happen very often? You being impressed?" She bit her lip, trying but failing to stop her smirk.

"Someone figuring out what I want without me being very specific," I explained. People rarely took the time to understand the things I asked.

"I'm getting better at thinking like you," she said proudly.

"It's more than that, I think." I looked away, unable to meet her probing gaze. She seemed to see everything, even the things I tried to hide. It was a wonder she hadn't already guessed my motivation for suggesting a physical relationship. "We seem to work quite well together. That will help our experiment, don't you think?"

"If it's true, then it will. I haven't decided if we do or not." Obviously, Bella still had reservations about the experiment. It was up to me to find a way to strengthen her resolve.

The rest of our dinner conversation fell short, consisting solely of polite chitchat about the food. I was depending on Bella to keep the conversation flowing, and she was unusually uncommunicative. She seemed to enjoy the meal though, thanking me numerous times for going out of my way to bring it. To me, it was nothing more than returning the favor, and her gratitude seemed excessive, her focus on the intention of my actions out of place. I helped Bella clear the dishes so we could get the movie started and move beyond the awkward pauses in conversation.

"I didn't bring dessert. Nothing at the restaurant seemed appropriate. I find most Moroccan desserts too sweet," I confessed.

"That's okay. I made something. Go have a seat, and I'll bring it in."

While I waited for Bella, I set up the DVD player. The thriller seemed like the more promising of the two movies she'd rented, so I put it in first. She returned a few minutes later with a tray. She put a cup of coffee and a bowl down in front of me.

"You made that?" I blurted in surprise. "It looks like something a chef would prepare."

"One of these days you're going to learn that I'm more than just a pretty face," she teased.

"I didn't mean it that way."

"I know. Go ahead and try it. I promise it's good." She smiled at me, waiting and watching me the same way I had done earlier with her. I dug the spoon in and scooped out a little bit of everything in the bowl.

"Wow, that's good," I mumbled, my mouth still full of the delicious blend of rich chocolate and light vanilla sweetness.

"Told you so." Bella giggled in satisfaction and plopped down beside me on the floor. She looked happy as she sampled a big spoonful of her sundae. I followed suit, taking another bite and tumbling back into chocolate bliss.

"So good," I murmured, more to myself than to her, but it made Bella's smile even bigger.

I stretched my legs out in front of me and let the couch support my weight while I finished my dessert. The movie was interesting enough but only held my attention in spurts. Bella's house was much less formal than mine, and the laid-back atmosphere had a positive effect on me. Even with Bella sitting quite close to me, I wasn't the least bit uncomfortable with the proximity of our bodies. If anything, it added to my distracted state, almost as if the closeness demanded my awareness, because every movement from her direction caught my attention.

Bella was intensely focused on the movie, her legs pulled into her body with her arms wrapped around them. It gave me ample time to observe her. Her hair was pulled up off her neck with some sort of clip. I studied the way it was twisted, trying to figure out how the contraption worked, but it was a mystery to me. The style definitely showed off Bella's assets. Her neck was beautifully long and slender. The way the loose tendrils fell away from the rest of her hair was appealing - the dark strands deeply contrasted against her pale skin. My eyes traced the path of the curls across her shoulders, which were bare except for the tiny strap of the purple tank top that she wore. So much exposed skin, more than I could remember seeing on her before. I wondered which was softer, her skin or the hair that laid on it. As if she could sense me staring or knew the direction of my thoughts, she shuddered and turned to look at me. I smiled at her and hoped she hadn't caught me studying her.

"Is it just me, or is it kind of warm in here?" she whispered, running her hand along the very part of her neck that I had been staring at. I had to clear my throat to keep from laughing at the irony.

"A little," I concurred.

The truth was that I was quite hot and very overdressed for the unseasonably warm evening. I peeled off my plaid shirt, in hopes of cooling down, and laid it on the couch behind us. As I reached around the back of Bella, I realized I simply had to stretch my fingertips a small amount and they would make contact with the skin at the nape of her neck. It was exceptionally tempting, and the easiness of the gesture made it all the more appealing. Perhaps this was the way I could make up for my stupidity last night – by making the first move. For a moment, the awkwardness paralyzed me. What if she didn't want me to touch her? She hadn't given me her permission. Deep down, I knew I had to break through my own self-consciousness and doubts. If my touch made her uncomfortable, then we'd have to discuss it. I moved my hand forward, deliberately ignoring the reservations in my head.

My fingers brushed lightly along her cool skin, a pleasant contrast to the heat of my body. She shifted back toward my hand a small amount in response. I took it as a positive sign and continued. My hand fumbled across her shoulders unskillfully. The movie was only background noise now. Instead, I studied Bella's neck and marveled that the situation was even happening. Touching her was as natural as I imagined it should have been, and much more comfortable than I anticipated. My fingers eventually found their way around to her collarbone. She shivered when I touched her there - goose bumps erupted on her skin instantly, and her head tilted to one side. There was something so alluring about her reaction, something powerful and feminine - it _had_ to be meaningful. I tried to memorize it in detail so I could recall it later and think about it. I wanted to remember how she reacted so I would know the next time I touched her in a way that pleased her.

I stilled my hand and left it resting on her shoulder. It was hard to keep from fidgeting. There was a part of me that wanted to explore Bella's skin further to see if I could make her react to my touch again, but I was apprehensive about going too far, too fast. I didn't trust myself to react properly yet, and I wasn't sure how quickly Bella wanted to move. I needed her consent to continue, some sort of signal that would make it clear that she was comfortable; even something subtle would do. Asking her directly might disrupt the ease between us, and I wasn't feeling terribly confident in my instincts. Did I want to draw attention to that fact?

I stared at Bella, scrutinizing the changes in her expression, looking for any sign of her assent. Every response I noticed seemed to be in reaction to the movie. After several minutes, I knew I had to suck it up and ask her. Not only did our experiment depend on open communication, no amount of wishing was going to make her respond. I leaned toward her body and spoke softly against her ear.

"Is this okay?" I couldn't have felt more inexperienced and juvenile if I tried. I was glad the room was dark so she couldn't see the discomfort on my face.

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed, sliding closer to me, letting her body rest against my side. In that single simple gesture, she relieved me of all my turmoil. I was a little in awe of her instinct; she just seemed to innately know what others needed, or at least she did when it came to me.

We really did make a good team, even if Bella hadn't realized it yet, and she only reinforced my belief during the climax of the movie. Bella turned her head into my chest when the scene became too much for her. The fact that she could turn to me for consolation spoke volumes about her comfort level. She knew she could count on me, and I felt the same way about her. It was exactly what I wanted from our partnership - a natural synergy based not on dependence but cognition and procedure, where every action was purposeful and met with a corresponding reaction, where each step was logical and predictable, no surprises, no deviations.

The movie ended in an emotional flourish that made little sense to me since I hadn't paid close attention to the story, but Bella's reaction was fascinating. What began as a stray tear culminated in an uncontrollable outpouring of grief - silent sobs shook her shoulders and streams of liquid sorrow stained her cheeks. It was as if she were the heroine in the story that had endured the hardships and loss. Her empathy was astounding.

She quietly excused herself when the credits began to roll and headed for the bathroom. I switched the first movie for the second and waited for her to return.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled when she came back into the room. Her eyes darted around the room nervously, looking everywhere but at me.

"It's not a big deal," I assured her.

She grimaced and shook her head in disagreement. "I know that you didn't sign up for all this emotional bullshit… that it makes you… uncomfortable. It won't happen again."

"I don't mind," I told her quietly. "The fact that you can empathize so strongly with another person is quite extraordinary. You shouldn't be ashamed of one of your greatest personality strengths."

"I don't think blubbering like an idiot is of much use as a character trait." For someone with such a keen perception, she didn't see herself very clearly.

"I don't know another person who sees the world quite like you do. You don't-"

She cut me off. "That's probably a good thing."

"Not really. In fact, it's kind of a shame. If more people could be kind like you…" I struggled to find the right words. "… And see past the little things that they obsess over, well, the world would be a better place." She had limitless acceptance. I wanted her to realize how easy it was for people to be themselves around her because of it. She blushed instantly under my compliment, her self-consciousness racing across her cheeks in a flood of ruby color. I didn't mean to make her feel embarrassed so I changed the subject. "I set up the next movie, if you're ready to watch it?"

"Sure." She took a seat on the couch instead of the floor.

"We aren't sitting on the floor any longer?"

"You can sit wherever you'd like," she said, her tone suddenly much cooler.

When I sat down next to Bella, she shifted to the far end of the couch. While I was glad for the opportunity to sit on something softer than the floor, I felt like I'd been relegated back to step one with her. My compliment had definitely shifted the dynamic between us. As the movie began, I made a conscious effort to get back the connection we'd shared during the first movie. I positioned my arm on the back of the couch and let my fingers casually rest against her shoulder. When she didn't react, I turned my body toward hers and leaned in closer to her, giving her my complete attention in an effort to show her my willingness. She ignored me. I could see she was visibly uncomfortable, rigid, and unemotional - very unlike herself. The contentment from earlier was gone, and I missed it. I didn't want the night to end, but I didn't want to prolong her discomfort, either.

"Do you want to just call it a night?" I asked in a low voice.

"Do you?" The defensive edge in her tone made it feel like she was daring me to make my choice, as if she'd made up her mind how I would respond and was waiting for me to prove her right.

"I admit I don't understand why you're upset with me. My compliment certainly wasn't intended to make you angry. Either way, if you'd rather I went home so you can be by yourself, I will respect your wishes."

"Is that what you want?" she asked, looking up at me. The anger had completely vanished from her voice. She seemed almost reluctant now, and there was vulnerability in her eyes, as if I'd wounded her in some way.

"I've done something to upset you." I felt like an idiot stating the obvious, but I had no idea what to do.

"So you do want to go home…" she whispered shamefully. That emotion seemed so misplaced that it confused me.

"I didn't say that. I'm trying to figure out what _you_ want." I was only a step away from exasperated - completely and utterly lost.

"If you want to go home, that's okay." I was hurting her; I could hear it in her voice. It made zero sense to me.

"Hold on. This isn't working. We both need to stop deciding what the other person wants because all we're doing is frustrating one another. To answer your question: no, I don't want to go home. I'm enjoying my time with you. But if I pushed you too far, I'll be happy to bring our evening to a close. I don't wish to prolong any upset you might be feeling."

"I'm sorry if my behavior made you uncomfortable. I would totally understand if you wanted to get out of here."

With my verbal request being ignored, I had the urge to clamp my hand over her mouth to make her stop talking. I resisted, understanding the childishness of the desire, but my palm twitched anxiously. "I've already said that I don't want to. Do _you_ want me to go?" My voice was far more demanding than I intended it to be, but better that than the petulance and anger that I was fighting to control.

"No," she whispered.

"Then I'll stay." My reply was curt. These sorts of disagreements were exactly the reason I had so few friends. I didn't do well with frustration.

Bella covered her face with her hands and laughed. "You must think I'm insane."

"No," I told her, laughing in spite of my irritation, thankful that the heaviness of the mood seemed to be lifting. "But I'll do my best to be prepared for your reaction next time."

She quirked one of her eyebrows at me. "Not everything can be predicted, Edward. If you want to understand how a woman's mind works then you need to accept rule number one: we are unpredictable creatures."

"Women are certainly more capricious than men," I allowed, "but not entirely unpredictable. One only needs to pay close attention to learn a woman's patterns. That should make it easy enough to predict her behavior."

"Sorry to break it to you, but women are _perpetually_ unpredictable. In the same situation, no two women are going to react the same way, and even the same woman could react differently. It's dependant on so many things."

"That seems improbable, Bella."

"That seems improbable," she repeated in a mocking tone. "Then you were expecting _this_?"

Bella brought her leg up, and before I understood the motion, she'd stretched it across my body so she was straddling my legs. The closeness of her body was enough to throw me for a loop, but it was her warmth that set me reeling. I suddenly felt like I had no control – not over the situation or myself - and I was instantly defensive.

"No, of course not. We were having a conversation. Why would I be expecting you to climb on to my lap? You're purposely being erratic."

"That's my point, Edward."

"There's a point to this?" I challenged, my irritation flaring. I tried to slow down the thoughts whirling around in my mind. What I had originally thought was awkwardness had morphed into something even more uncomfortable – arousal. She was manipulating me. That shouldn't turn me on.

"Yes, there's a point, and you should know what it is, if I'm predictable." Her eyes held mine captive. She moved her body closer to mine with deliberate slowness, making her intention to convince me more than clear.

"I never said I could predict your behavior. I was speaking hypothetically." I was backpedaling, trying to avoid being further ensnared in her trap. It irked me that I couldn't seem to resist her even though I was fully aware it was all a ploy.

"Fine, then apply your hypothesis to me." The warm breath of her whisper tickled my face. I fought back a shiver.

"Just make your point," I demanded in a raspy voice. My lungs struggled to work, seemingly unable to take in enough air to function properly. I couldn't tell if I was coming or going, drifting somewhere between annoyance and lust. I didn't like her game; it was too controlling, but I'd never wanted to kiss a woman so much in my life.

"You can't tell what I want?" she murmured, the tiniest hint of a pout on her lips. She pressed her thighs into mine and held them there. "No idea at all?"

"No," I denied, afraid to admit even to myself what I wanted to do to her and anxious about how it would feel if she didn't want the same thing. I was completely unconfident, a position I rarely found myself in, and I was the polar opposite of comfortable. I squirmed beneath her trying to shake off the way she was making me feel.

With an impish grin on her lips, she slowly moved her right hand to the back of her head and removed the clip she was wearing. She shook her head subtly, and her hair cascaded down around her shoulders.

"I just wanted to take the clip out of my hair, silly." She giggled to herself and turned to climb off my lap.

I couldn't let her leave. I grasped her hips impulsively and pulled her back to me, smashing my mouth into hers. It was too rough, far more intense than I'd intended. I fought to control myself, overcome by the commanding need to control her. I forced myself to relax my grip on her hipbones, but the feeling inside of me exploded. Gentle wasn't enough. It wasn't what I craved, and this was definitely a craving - primal, piercing and acute. I was consumed by it.

I pushed my mouth at hers over and over again, wholly lacking the patience to determine if she was responding with the same fervidity as I was. I just took each kiss, and as soon as I had it, I took another. My heart was racing, and my chest burned, but even the inability to get the oxygen I needed wasn't reason enough to stop my actions. I tunneled my fingers into her hair, gathering her curls into my hands. I didn't even realize how tightly I held them until I heard Bella whimper against my lips. It was the first thing strong enough to separate my actions from the force that drove them.

I immediately loosened my fingers and remorsefully slid my hands from her hair. I was too ashamed to even open my eyes and look at her when I pulled back from her lips.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, bracing myself for the backlash from Bella, knowing I deserved it.

Bella said nothing; she simply brought her lips back to mine. I felt her fingers caress the back of my head; I hadn't even realized her hands were in my hair. I tried to pull back to apologize again, to say something that would atone for my lack of discretion and my blatant disregard for her feelings, but she wouldn't let me. She smothered my feeble attempts at apologies with gentle, giving kisses. Each time I pulled my mouth away from hers, she returned her lips to mine, until my head was pressed tightly to the back of the couch and there was nowhere for me to go. I didn't understand what she was doing.

She poured out her affection onto my undeserving lips while I did my best to stubbornly resist enjoying myself. I hadn't earned the unspoken forgiveness that her kiss conveyed. Bella didn't agree, waiting out my guilt and reluctance until she broke me down. I took note of how her lips made me feel and tried to project that same feeling back at her. I must have had some success because I felt her body relax against mine.

Her kiss was soft and caring; her caress, gentle and unhurried. She was everything I needed in that moment, much like she'd been the night before, maybe even more so. I moved my hands along the back of her calves, hoping to return some of the warmth that she'd granted me. It took focus to keep my touch light and mirror the tenderness that she employed. My hands naturally drifted up toward her waist. I liked the way she felt against my body. Bella must have liked it too because when she finally pulled away from our kiss, she laid her head on my shoulder and lay pressed against me for several minutes.

When Bella sat up, she looked at me with her penetrating brown eyes. I didn't know what to say to break the silence, but she did. She always knew. She gave me a tiny grin that transformed into a beautiful, wide smile and put all of the misunderstanding and turmoil of the night into the past. It would never cease to amaze me how easily she could settle things between us.

Bella slid off my lap and tucked herself into my side, pulling my arm across the back of the couch and curling it around her shoulder. There was no misinterpreting what she wanted, and for that I was grateful. Neither of us knew what was going on in the movie, but we sat in silence and let it finish, content to stay within the comfort of our connection. I offered to return the movies for her as a tiny token of my gratitude. It was the least I could do to thank her for all that she had done for me. When she handed me the DVDs, I took her hand in mine and held it for a moment.

"Earlier you asked me why I don't eat Moroccan food very often. My parents introduced me to it. You see, they traveled to Morocco on their honeymoon and fell in love with it. I think they liked to relive the magic of their time there, so every few months we'd go to Seattle to have a big Moroccan dinner."

"That's so beautiful, Edward. They must have been very much in love."

"They were," I admitted, blushing. "My mother and I tried to continue the tradition after my father passed away, but it never felt the same without him. I haven't been in the mood for Moroccan food in _so_ long. Tonight it seemed like the only food that made sense to bring, and you're the only person I could imagine sharing it with."

Bella's face lit up with emotion for a moment, but as fast as it appeared, it vanished, replaced by a gentle smile. I returned her smile and gave her hand a tiny squeeze. It seemed like an apropos finish to our evening. I left Bella on her doorstep and headed home. I wasn't tired; maybe I would actually watch the movies before I returned them.

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**A/N**: Say it together: "Awwwww…" Yeah, that was pretty sweet of Edward, no?

Were you surprised by Bella's emotional breakdown? Did Edward's kiss make your knees weak? Do you have a hankering for Moroccan food? Would you risk your heart for Edward the way Bella is, or do you think she's an idiot? Do you think Edward is catching on to how he feels?

Let me know what you think is going to happen next or give me your opinion on what has already happened. I'd love to hear from you. Click that review button!


	9. Kissing Games

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Thank you to my betas** LightStarDusting** and **Scorp112** for their input and grammar skills. I'd be lost without you guys. I am kindly reminded each time I get a chapter back that I do not have as good a grasp on the English language as I think I do. Scorp was kind enough to write a wonderful review of the story that was posted at TheTwilightAwards(dot)com. You can read it there, if you remove the spaces that is. http: / / reviews. Thetwilightawards .com/2011/01/emotional-education-of-edward-cullen-by .html

A quick note about the star gazing in this chapter. The phenomena I wrote about were actually happening in my corner of the world at the time I outlined the story, so time-wise and location-wise for this story, they are not necessarily accurate.

Your reviews keep me smiling and inspired, so thank you for taking the time to say hello and share your opinions.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Kissing Games**

**BPOV**

Trying to give Edward some space wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, not with my mission to keep the evening _light_ burning brightly in my mind. When I started rambling, I reminded myself not to monopolize the conversation. I quickly peeked at him while he was eating, but only allowed myself to make eye contact with him when he spoke to me. I might have used the glass of the coffee table to stare at his reflection at great length, but there was no proof of it. While we watched the movie, I forced myself to focus on the story instead of obsessing over how close together Edward and I were sitting. Luckily for me, the movie was pretty good, but more importantly, my plan worked. Edward made the first move. When I felt his fingertips on my neck, I inwardly rejoiced in my victory. It seemed like a better alternative than acknowledging that his touch left me feeling like Jell-O or taking his fingers into my mouth and sucking on them. And yes, the thought had occurred to me. My patience had paid off. I planned on seeing just how far it could take me.

When Edward quietly asked for permission to keep his arm around me, I responded by leaning against him. It was heavenly - all warmth and soft cotton mixed with Edward's delicious scent. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from asking what kind of cologne he wore. Surely that would have weirded him out, but he'd probably never stopped to think about how good he smelled. I had. I'd made myself so comfortable against him that, without thinking, I used his chest to hide my eyes during a shoot out scene. It was Edward's quiet sigh that made me realize what I'd done. The sigh seemed like a positive thing, but I wasn't sure. A part of me knew I should just ignore it and pretend it never happened, but I couldn't help myself from wondering. I looked up at him to find his face impassive. Not yay-she-leaned-against-me happy, not even oh-cool-she's-having-a-good-time content, just blank and un-reactive. Maybe the sigh wasn't even about me, or worse, it was and it was an irritated sigh. Panic began to bubble in my stomach.

My mind attempted to do damage control, rationalizing Edward's behavior and reviling mine, working to convince itself that his sigh had nothing to do with me. Unsuccessfully, I might add. The tight grip I'd managed to keep on my control all night began to slip, my emotions mutinying and taking over. The movie powered the insubordination. Stupid one-sided love affair. If I had known that the main character ended up alone after the man she'd dedicated her life to left her behind, I never would have rented the damn movie. It was like art imitating life – my life. Only the art ended up looking like a desperate moron who should have known better. Was that what _I_ was going to look like if things with Edward blew up in my face?

I worked to even out my breathing, to ignore the heaviness in my chest by diverting my attention to blurring my silver-polished toenails in and out of focus, and reminded myself on repeat that it was a bad idea to fall apart. My only chance to hold it together was if the heroine managed not to cry. Of course, she didn't, and I joined in on her sorrow. It wasn't just a few tears either; I was straight up sobbing like a baby. It was mortifying. I knew I would look _just_ like the woman in the movie when the experiment was over. This was, and always would be, a one-sided relationship. And even though I knew that going in, I had momentarily lost my perspective, focusing on how much I wanted my feelings reciprocated instead of on the restitution of Edward's affection. I was stuck in the reality of his lack of feelings for me, already mourning the end of our pretending and embracing the pain that would eventually consume me. All I could do was wait for the movie to end, in hopes of not drawing any more attention to my teary-eyed freakshow.

I made a mad dash for the bathroom once the credits began to roll. By the time the door clicked shut, I was shaking like a leaf, my emotions coursing through me on the wings of adrenaline. _What had I done_? I couldn't afford to show that much emotion in front of Edward, not unless I wanted to scare the shit out of him. He was probably already dreaming up an escape plan. I splashed a little cold water on my face and took a drink, using the distraction to get a hold of myself.

I'd made a mistake. That's all. I needed to go back out there and own up to what I'd done, to suck it up and take his needling. Only then could I possibly save face a little bit. I wasn't perfect and never claimed to be. I could do this. I had to.

I braced myself for Edward's brashness, expecting him to ask me why I cried in the tactless way he worded things when he didn't understand something. Instead, he was kind and uncharacteristically sensitive, even when I admitted my overreaction. His compliment set my mind reeling. Not only was it a very nice thing to say - especially for him - it felt personal. _Too personal_. I couldn't let myself believe that he felt anything beyond friendship for me and maintain the proper perspective. And let's face it - I was already having trouble in that area. I _had_ to keep my feelings for him compartmentalized for my own sanity. With one compliment, the lines between experiment and relationship blurred. Then Edward's kiss completely obliterated them.

I was trying to prove to Edward that women were unpredictable by climbing into his lap and being purposely suggestive - not that I hadn't already proven it with my teary breakdown. Well, if I pushed the envelope, he set it to burn. His kiss was totally unexpected, his intensity even more so. I threw myself into it with both lips.

When he tried to pull away and apologize, I quieted him by kissing him again, and I did it as many times as it took for him to surrender. I refused to let him feel bad about getting caught up in the moment and allowing it to get the better of him. It was the same thing that had happened to me with the movie. I'd be a hypocrite if I let him think he'd done something wrong. And if nothing else, his loss of control moved the experiment to the next phase.

I couldn't pretend that I wasn't tickled pink by the naturalness of his reaction. It was hard to imagine someone kissing me like that – with such avid intensity and desire - without having feelings for me, and therein laid the problem: the seed was planted. There would always be some amount of doubt - maybe because I wanted him to care, or maybe to justify putting myself into this crazy experiment. The reason didn't matter that much. I just knew that I was never going to be able to wholly believe he had no feelings for me.

And I was totally screwed.

I saw Edward at school first thing Monday morning. I gave him my regular greeting. He gave me his regular reply. I thought I saw something in his eyes when he looked at me, but I couldn't be sure. Most of the morning was passed debating whether I saw what I wanted to see. It was entirely possible and, unfortunately for my marbles, probable. I saw him look at me at lunch, which was a little out of the ordinary for him. After school, he was straight up watching me in the parking lot, and that was unheard of. I knew what I _wanted_ it to mean and did my best to talk myself out of it while I drove to the police station to drop off my dad's dinner. It might have worked if I hadn't found Edward waiting in front of the house when I got home.

"What's up?" I asked, slamming the door of my truck and turning toward him. He shook his head and shrugged cryptically, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. He followed me up the sidewalk to the front porch. "Did you want to come in?" Another smile, a subtle nod. I held the door open for him.

"After you," he insisted.

"Oh good, I thought you'd lost your voice." Better I tease him by pointing out something silly than let my brain make things into something else entirely.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday," he said quietly. I closed the door and turned to face him. He was right there, barely a foot away, staring at me with a look on his face that I didn't recognize.

"No need to apologize. Things are going to unfold between us at their own rate. It's not worth worrying about." I was trying to convince myself as much as him. I smiled, expecting his expression to soften or change, but it didn't.

"We agreed that we shouldn't move forward unless we're both comfortable. I didn't ask you before I kissed you. I didn't check to make sure you were okay with it." He inched forward.

"Beginner's mistake, I guess."

"Was it… _okay_ with you?" His voice was soft and unsure, but his body was leaning toward mine in a slow and determined manner.

"Sure," I told him, hoping I sounded nonchalant. His kiss has been so far beyond "okay" that the word sounded like an insult.

"So you'd be open to letting me kiss you again?" I knew I'd seen something in his eyes at school. It was the same look I saw in them now.

"For the purpose of science, of course," I joked, trying to halt the desire that was thrashing around inside of me, threatening to erupt in a very uncontrolled way.

He laughed, a tiny half-suppressed chuckle that he tried to hide in a smile. "Is _now_ good?"

"Now's good," I echoed, letting him back me against the door as his mouth came to mine.

His lips were softer and gentler than yesterday but still rushed. I needed to slow him down if I had any chance at getting the good, old-fashioned kiss that I wanted from him. Focusing on technique, I let the teacher in me take over, hoping that it would make me forget the weakness in my knees and the flutter in my stomach. Maybe then I could pretend that his smile alone wouldn't get him everything he wanted from me.

I brought my hands to his face and held his jaw lightly, pulling away from his mouth with an exaggerated pucker. When he came back at my lips, l let him, but I pushed my chin out toward his when his mouth closed on mine, just to ease him back a little more. To make my point, I moved in on him with barely there pecks that were slow and sensual. He pushed his mouth at me willfully. I took his top lip between mine, letting it slide slowly from my hold and then repeated the action on his bottom lip, trying to make it clear that I didn't want to hurry.

His hands were resting tentatively on my hips. I reached down and pulled them around my waist, using my palms to flatten them against my back. It was a much more personal hold - more confident, better presence. No woman wanted unsure hands on her body; she wanted resolute hands, the hands of a man who knew what he wanted. Edward huffed in frustration, pushing his mouth at mine again. It was becoming clear that Mr. Impatient had control issues. I was almost giddy at the thought of trying to break him of them. Nothing like a project to keep my brain occupied on something other than my feelings for Edward.

I decided to try a new approach. Instead of pulling away, I returned every kiss he gave without removing my lips from his, keeping my response light and gentle. He seemed to catch on better, abandoning his haste in favor of mirroring my actions. It was kind of heady to lead him because I could make him kiss me any way that I wished, and acknowledging that fact made it a lot harder to control myself. It didn't help that Edward was a quick study.

I opened my mouth and delicately touched my tongue to his top lip, in polite proposition. He jerked backward, pulling me with him because of how he held me. Score one in the fail column for the first attempt at a French kiss. I was nothing if not good at zeroing in on what made Edward feel awkward. I had to work hard to calm the giggle that threatened to erupt.

He was undaunted by his faux pas, his willing mouth back at mine within seconds. His lips were slightly parted, so I slipped my tongue inside. I was slow; I didn't want to scare him off again. His tongue was timid and hesitant, so I retreated a bit, sandwiching his bottom lip between mine with gentle pressure. He pulled his lip away in a deliberately slow manner and then took my lip between his, raking his teeth over it as he let it go. I suspected he wanted me to repeat the action on him - student teaching the teacher. It wasn't hard to understand that he might be uncomfortable in the role of unskilled novice. I indulged him in a far less intense way, my teeth barely touching his lip. He growled softly in response, affirming my thoughts: it was too much, too soon - too vehement for the way we were kissing. If we were truly going to take this a step at a time, we had to move cautiously.

When Edward used his teeth again, I didn't reciprocate, nor did I when he repeated it. His teeth were more insistent this time, approaching painful in the way they dug into my flesh. I could tell he was frustrated, and I wanted to be supportive, but I would stop short of letting him hurt me. I opened my mouth a little more widely, waiting to see if he'd take the bait. His tongue ventured out against mine, his intensity transferred to an overly enthusiastic thrust into my mouth. I was patient, moving my tongue in a playful, gentle manner. Edward was paying close attention and corrected his vigor almost instantly. He was very curious, testing different movements and positions to find what he liked. I liked it all, especially the taste of him on my tongue.

We moved slowly. I hoped I was conveying my intention with my unhurried pace and that he was picking up on the subtleties of each kiss and touch. At least he was past the awkwardness of our physical connection, which I was thankful for, but I wasn't looking forward to trying to put any of this into words. Knowing Edward, his questions would be numerous.

My hands naturally drifted up to his neck. Feeling a tiny bit indulgent and more than a little curious, I let my fingers slide into his hair. It was soft and thick, and the texture of the short hairs on my fingertips felt wonderful. I was so focused on my own enjoyment that it took me a moment to realize that his breathing had picked up. The way he pressed his lips to mine was edging on insistent. I found it hard to resist letting him dominate the kiss, even though I knew I had to. When my subtle attempts to slow him down went ignored, I moved my hands to his chest and gently tried to push him back.

I couldn't move him.

Edward's hands came to my face. His thumb brushed along my jawbone while his fingers curled around my neck, tenderly holding it as he pressed his tongue against mine fervidly. I was impressed. He had game I didn't know about, or at least an instinct that gave him some idea of how a woman liked to be touched – how _this woman_ liked to be touched.

There was something in the potential of his fingertips. They were gentle in touch but had a raw power undulating shallowly beneath their surface – a separate entity that fascinated me. I wanted to understand it intimately – to call and coerce it, to be the master of it.

Edward's response continued to heighten, and alarm bells went off in my head. As much as I wanted – craved – this response from him, it was too much, too soon. I couldn't let my hormones screw this up by giving Edward what I was pretty sure he wasn't ready for. If I let him get in over his head, he might feel embarrassed or confused and end up regretting ever trying. Plus, didn't they say you should always leave them wanting more? Knowing he wasn't going to willingly give up control to me, I had to take charge of the situation before I gave into it any further. A picture of a riding crop and knee-high leather boots came into my mind. In a flash, the image was replaced - the boots on my feet and the crop in my hand, thwacking lightly against my palm as I stared at Edward in annoyance. My own whacked out version of my inner dominatrix. I couldn't hold back the giggle at the notion. Edward pulled away from the kiss in stunned irritation.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, wiping all traces of our kiss from his mouth with the back of his hand. The action put an end to my laughing, feeling more like a slap in the face than someone drying his lips. It wasn't personal, but it felt like it was, although I suppose my giggling felt the same way to him.

"I'm sorry. That was rude. It wasn't anything you did. It was the picture in my head that made me laugh." I knew my explanation wasn't going to stop Edward's questions before it even left my mouth.

"What was it of?"

"You did really well with the kiss," I complimented him, changing the subject to protect my inner dominatrix. She was a fledgling, only in the early stages of learning what she liked. The boots and crop had disappeared. She wore plain, dark jeans and a white cotton tee now. Not much of a dominatrix at all, really. I wasn't about to let Edward destroy her by sharing her existence with him. "The hand thing was good."

"Hand thing?" His face had the most adorable confused expression. It took all my energy not to focus on it.

"Your hands on my neck, at the end there. Nice move. Girls go crazy for stuff like that." I tried to demonstrate the move, but my hand placement was off and I ended up looking awkward and silly.

"You didn't seem to like it very well or you wouldn't have put an end to our kiss with your laughing." His quiet voice held an air of indignation that made me want to snicker and swoon at the same time. Instead, I offered a placation.

"It was getting pretty intense."

His lips pursed as he thought over my statement. I couldn't help but wonder if he was angry that I'd given a rational explanation for stopping. "Perhaps, but isn't kissing supposed to get intense?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't have to. Kissing can be a lot of things, different things to different people. It's a give and take proposition, at least good kissing is."

"And this was good kissing?" I didn't know whether to laugh at his question or be insulted by it. Then again, good kissing was in the eye of the beholder, or be-kisser, as the case may be. For me, it was _definitely_ good kissing. I decided to break down the process a bit for him. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes." His eyes darted rapidly in seemingly random directions, and I got the feeling he was trying to resist saying something. I suspected he had a lot of questions and was having trouble controlling the urge to bombard me with him. A tiny part of me hoped he was fighting the urge to say something inappropriate. It would be nice to not be the only one with that sort of difficulty.

"Okay." I smiled, pausing to choose my words carefully. "What _didn't_ work for you?"

"I didn't like you pulling back from me," he answered without hesitation.

_No duh, Mr. Impatient_.

"I was trying to slow you down," I informed him.

"Why?"

_Because you weren't giving yourself enough time to realize you liked kissing me, dumbass._

"I wanted you to enjoy the kiss. The way you were rushing felt more like you were trying to get to the next step, instead of taking pleasure in the moment." I hoped my honesty would break though his thoughts, that he'd at least consider my comment within the context of his actions.

"I see." He nodded, silent for a moment as he further dissected something in his mind. "So it doesn't _need_ to be intense?"

"Intensity can be a really good thing, but it's not the _only_ thing." I could see the change in his posture as my words registered – his shoulders relaxed and his head tilted a little to one side. It was his eyes that surprised me. They were ablaze with curiosity - vivid green and almost twinkling.

"When you moved my arms around your waist, what was that for?" His gaze was so consuming that I had to look away. I was glad that I could help him, but that didn't make it easier to resist his charms, even if he wasn't aware that he had them.

_It's easier for me to pretend you want me when you hold me close_.

"Intention. If you're into a woman enough to want to kiss her, then you should hold her in a way that tells her that."

"But I _was_ holding you," he complained, his eyes wrinkling in refutation.

"It was the way you were holding me." I reached out for his hand and held it, barely letting my fingers make contact with his skin. After a moment, I squeezed more firmly to illustrate my point. "You want to do it with less diffidence, more savoir-faire."

"I guess that makes sense, but how do I know if I'm doing the right thing?" The innocence in his tone tugged at my heartstrings. I knew being this vulnerable with me had to be hard for him. I needed to be patient with him and answer his questions thoughtfully. This was all new to him.

"She'll give you clues in the way she responds, you just have to watch for them. If she sighs or moans, or if she starts kissing you back with more intensity, then you must be doing something right." I felt a little self-conscious stating such obvious things to him, like I was pointing out every trick I could hide behind.

"The first time you really responded to my kiss was just after you put your hands on my neck. That means you must have liked the way I was kissing you." He smiled smugly at me. I blushed instantly. Of all the inopportune times for him to be perceptive.

I forced myself to answer him, intentionally leveling the playing field to show him that I'd been paying attention too. "The same way you liked the feeling of my teeth on your lips."

"I wasn't sure you heard that," he said quietly, indirectly acknowledging the growl that reverberated from him. His hand cupped his neck nervously as his cheeks began to heat.

The memory of our kiss flooded my mind – the pressure of his lips, his velvet tongue, and the sweetness of his taste. I had to look away or risk giving too much away with my expression. "My point is that everyone enjoys different things. You just need to figure out what works for both of you. She'll give you hints about what you're doing right and wrong with her body language, if you're paying attention."

"You sound like you have all the answers," he decided, smiling. He couldn't have been more wrong. There were so many questions in my head, picking at my concentration and burning my consciousness like acid.

"No, I just understand the emotional stuff a little better than you." We both felt things; I was just better at naming them. I was probably better at acknowledging them, too.

"Much better than me, you mean. You've given me a lot to think about." He shoved his hands into his pockets and grinned down at the floor. His smile was so big that it made me feel like I was on the outside of an inside joke. The compulsion to put him on the spot hit me. I resisted, chewing on the inside of my cheek to offset the anxiety.

"Glad to help," I mumbled, giving him a tight smile. And I was glad, at least in part, even if I hadn't quite figured out what else I was feeling.

We talked a little bit about school and made tentative plans for Friday night. The push and pull of kissing him again was toying with me. My control was tentative at best. I couldn't think straight with his scent all around me, with the taste of him lingering on my tongue. I used the excuse of studying to cut our visit short. We had to take baby steps. Unfurling Edward Cullen was a multi-step process. I had to respect his boundaries for the time being, even if they were part of what kept him closed off and isolated. Time was on my side. Besides, I was all for behaving myself so I could feel his lips on mine again. As I watched him leave, I realized really super deep down that I should be more upset about how in over my head I was.

**~8~**

**EPOV**

I sought Bella out every day. On Monday, I went to her house to apologize; Tuesday, I waited by her truck under the pretense of finalizing our weekend plans. By Wednesday, I didn't make it past lunch, searching her out in the cafeteria line. She seemed to understand my plight implicitly, quietly inviting me over each day after school. She was always discreet, handling my approach with incredible finesse. It was admirable. Exams started on Thursday, so I found her first thing and asked her to take a drive after school. Since we'd made plans for Friday night early in the week, I had no excuse to find her that day but fought the urge nonetheless.

Kissing Bella had triggered something in me that I couldn't seem to gain a solid understanding of, and my thoughts became a little obsessive about it. There was no denying that I liked the physical aspects of what we were doing - the pressure of her hands on my body, the sensation of her lips against mine - but that was just basic biology. It was the range and intensity of emotions that came with it that left me overwhelmed and confused. I felt something different each time I kissed her. It just wasn't logical.

How could a kiss make me feel angry, turned on and wistful at the same time? How could her mouth pull emotion out of me based on a change in pressure, speed or action? Intention, attraction, control and skill were all intricately connected in a web of pathways that I could not navigate successfully. I seemed to lack the ability to temper my response to her. I knew she wasn't slowing us down, pulling away, or holding back to purposely make me mad. I knew a kiss couldn't last forever, and that, at least in part, it was supposed to evoke desire, but none of it seemed to change my reaction. Even though I enjoyed they way she kissed me, it never satisfied me, and it always led to intensity that made her pull back.

I took what she demonstrated on Monday and tried to apply it on Tuesday, watching for clues in her body language to help guide me. I was too intense from the very beginning. Bella told me that I lunged at her with my mouth agape, like I was going to eat her. Not the best place to start from. By the end of our endeavor, I was frustrated and irritated. Bella reminded me to move slowly and enjoy each moment of the kiss. On Wednesday I began very slowly, locking and re-locking lips with her for what felt like an eternity. Clearly, I had difficulty staying in the moment. I thought I read the signs correctly, but when I deepened the kiss, Bella pulled away. I asked her why, and she told me that if the person you're kissing wants more, they will come and get it all on their own. What was the point of reading body language if I was leaving the progression of the kiss up to the other person? On Thursday, we drove for an hour, had a lovely conversation and arrived back at Bella's in a contented state. Everything was great until I tried to kiss her. Bella changed the moment I moved closer to her. Gone were the sparkling eyes and giddy laughter of our drive, replaced by a hollower, less vivacious version of my friend. I was instantly frustrated by her appearance. She seemed to complicate the process I was trying to learn by holding back, almost as if she were looking for anything other than what I was giving her. Bella lightly scolded me for holding her with unsure hands and for kissing her with hesitancy, but I _was_ unsure. I felt like I had employed all of the techniques she'd shared with me but was still missing the mark somehow.

Friday evening, I picked Bella up and took her back to my house. The weather had cooperated, and I had things all set up in the backyard. I wanted to keep the night low-key, hoping to show her my gratitude for her patience and discretion all week, but I also really wanted to do something I was good at. I was a little ashamed of the way I was feeling, but I wasn't used to having to work so hard for something. My comfort level with kissing still wasn't where I wanted it to be. I continued to feel a little lost and confused each time we finished. There was something important that I was missing about the process, despite Bella's repeated attempts to elucidate me. I was sure that once I grasped the finer points of kissing, I would be able to kiss her and feel nothing at all. I had to keep working at it until I could control my emotions, or at least temper my responses during a kiss. I didn't even want to think about the anger that surfaced when she pulled away. It seemed so misplaced within the confines of a kiss. I idly wondered if this was a normal problem for guys or just me. It even occurred to me that it might have something to do with my lack of experience. It was part of the reason I wanted to master this skill. I didn't like feeling incapable. My overachieving tendencies aside, I was beginning to worry that this was going to be the sticking point that would put an end to the experiment.

Bella happily settled down on to the blanket in the grass. While I fiddled with the telescope, we chatted about the exams we'd written that day and about which ones were to come. Using the segue of studying, I introduced what we'd be watching tonight: first, the moon and a trio of planets – Mars, Venus and Saturn - and later, the Perseid meteor shower. I sat down next to her and pointed out the planets, all easy enough to find with the naked eye, if you knew where to look. After Bella was able to locate all three, I brought her to the telescope to show her the crescent moon that was hiding in plain sight, its tiny slice so small it appeared barely illuminated without the aide of magnification. Bella giggled and admitted she didn't believe that it was even there. When she'd had enough of the moon, I re-aimed the telescope on Saturn so she could see its rings. She took it all in with the awe and curiosity of a child, full of questions that I did my best to answer.

"It's nice to see you relaxed," she confessed.

"It's nice to _feel_ relaxed. I don't know what's gotten into me this week." That wasn't exactly true. I knew the effect. I just didn't fully understand the cause.

Bella laughed. "Welcome to your sexual awakening, Edward. Opportunity creates hormones."

If this was what hormones did, I wanted no part of them. I loathed the way I felt this week - the lingering dissatisfaction that I could never fully shake, my distracted state of mind, the threatening irritation that taunted me at every turn. I wanted to master kissing just so I could just relax. I needed understanding to do that, though, and Bella was the only one who might be able to help me. I lay down flat on my back and looked up at the night sky. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Bella joined me, mirroring the position of my body and folding her arms behind her head.

There was no _good_ way to bring up the strange mix of emotions I felt when she kissed me. I just had to do it. "What do you feel when I kiss you?" I blurted.

Bella snickered. "Well that's a loaded question if I've ever heard one."

"I'm just trying to figure out why I'm not very good at this." I couldn't bring myself to look at her, staring at a wisp of clouds that rolled by instead, hoping she wouldn't see my embarrassment.

"You're doing fine, Edward. You just need some more experience." The kindness in her voice was unmistakable. I'd already come to expect it.

"I feel like you'll grow tired of our kissing games if I don't figure out what I'm doing wrong." There was no volume to my voice. My fear prevented it. I didn't understand the fear, only the gravity of the admittance. I felt like I was suffocating under it.

She shifted beside me, sitting up and turning to face me. Her tiny hand came to rest on my shoulder, as she spoke in a soft, sympathetic tone. "I'm not going to walk away just because you're having trouble with something."

I nodded, feeling slightly unworthy of her loyalty. All the time in the world wasn't going to do me any good if I couldn't gain an understanding of what was going on inside my own head. "What _do_ you feel when we're kissing?" I asked quietly.

She turned away from me, pulling her legs into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her voice wavered a little as she spoke. "I don't know… pleasure, warmth, desire."

"All normal and expected reactions." I shook my head in frustration. Why couldn't I just be normal in this one small way, to feel what I was supposed to feel without the added negative stuff that Bella didn't have to deal with?

"You don't feel those things?" she asked hesitantly.

"I do, but there's more… things that you _don't_ feel… things that have no place in what we're doing. I don't understand them." I heaved a sigh and closed my eyes, feeling defeat settle into my bones. Maybe this was beyond my capabilities.

"Care to elaborate?" I knew she was only trying to be encouraging, but the thought of admitting all the ass-backward things kissing her made me feel left me even more overwhelmed.

"I just thought if I understood what you felt it might help me ascertain a little more about what I feel."

"I have an idea, if you're up for trying something a little different?" she coaxed earnestly. The change in her voice piqued my curiosity.

"Like what?"

She turned to look at me again, her expression, thoughtful. "I'm wondering if your mind is just working too hard. Part of enjoying another person's touch is a clear head. If you're focusing too much on your thoughts, then you aren't really paying attention to the sensations. Give me your hoodie."

I handed her the jacket, and she tucked it behind my head, pulling the sleeves up over my eyes in a makeshift blindfold. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this," I mumbled, feeling a little apprehensive.

"I know it's not what you're used to," she allowed, "but you would normally close your eyes anyway, so this isn't _that_ different. Just ignore everything around you. I want you to focus solely on the sensations." Her instructions were so confident, so unfaltering, that I was suddenly hopeful.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, wanting her to explain her theory. I was keenly curious why she was suddenly so animated and authoritative.

"I'm not going to tell you. What I want to try won't work if you're expecting it. Don't worry. I promise I'll be gentle, and if you're uncomfortable, tell me and I'll stop."

"Just say _stop_?" Exceptionally clear boundaries were the only thing that would allow me to loosen up enough to follow directions.

She chuckled softly, apparently amused by my discomfort. After a moment she relented. "Sure, the moment you don't like what I'm doing, say _stop_. Just remember to concentrate on the sensations."

"It's strange not being able to see what you're doing," I noted after a minute or so, anticipating Bella's kiss and not receiving it.

"I'm waiting for you to relax."

I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, rolling my shoulders back and pressing them into the blanket to get comfortable. I felt Bella's caress on my wrist, and I focused on the contact. Her hand swept over my skin, gliding up toward my shoulder with gentle pressure.

"You're right. I can differentiate between each finger with my eyes closed."

"Edward, stop talking, stop thinking; _just feel_."

Bella's fingers slipped under the sleeve of my t-shirt, rounding over my triceps. Her thumb dipped inward, following the indentation of my bicep. I opened my eyes to test if what I felt with my eyes open differed from what I felt with them closed, understanding the need for the blindfold.

"You're still thinking," Bella whispered. The sound was close to my left ear.

I closed my eyes again, inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm myself. Her hand moved along my shoulder. I could hear the friction of the cotton as it yielded, her fingertips barely touching me. One finger followed the edge of my neckline, sliding slowly to the bottom of the V and back up again, tracing my collarbone, ghosting over the hollow at the base of my throat, up along my Adam's apple and skimming under my chin. She was slow, gentle and careful. I could see the merit in her experimentation; the blindfold heightened all of my senses.

Bella's mouth moved to my chin, moist heat and softness so distinct that it couldn't be mistaken for any other body part. She followed the path she'd just made with her finger, kissing and re-kissing my Adam's apple every time I swallowed. Once her lips reached the hollow at the bottom of my throat, she buried her lips in the cavity. I could feel her breath on my skin as she exhaled, even hotter than her mouth. With no way to track her movements, I had only two choices: enjoy what she was doing or fight it, and there was no way not to enjoy the sensuality of her efforts.

I reached out for her blindly, wondering if my heightened touch went both ways - not just how it felt to _be_ touched but how it felt _to_ touch. Bella's response was two-fold. First, she laced her fingers through mine and pressed my hands to the blanket, holding them there. Next, she climbed on top of me. Her hair fell forward, tickling my skin and engulfing me in a sweet, exotic aroma. I remembered the smell from when she'd slept beside me. It was even more potent tonight; my cock twitched in response. Or maybe it was simply because she was on top of me now, and I was wearing a blindfold, letting her have her way with me. In that instant, what Bella had been trying to explain for days clicked into place. It wasn't just _give_ and _take_; it was also _accept_.

Bella's mouth moved along my jaw, slow soft kisses interrupted by her tongue every now and again. The contrast of its heat and moisture was intensely erotic. It was difficult to breathe evenly. Gushes of air left my lips in gasping discharges. Every breath I took was filled with her scent, and it left my mouth watering. I was ready to show her that I understood. I silently wished for her lips against mine to prove I could play the game with the skills she'd taught me.

Shallow pants against my neck as she pulled my earlobe through her teeth. It was almost more than I could handle, and I lengthened my torso to shift away from her, as I grew harder. The familiar tinge of anger tugged at me, and I buried it, unwilling to give it any control over me tonight. Even though I didn't have to be patient_, I wanted to be_, now that I understood the reason for it. This wasn't all just pointless circling. It was capitalizing on moving forward in rhythm and unison, when the moment was right.

I sank further into the sensations, just as Bella had instructed, concentrating on the tingling she left on my skin and the warmth that radiated from her touch. I could almost see the fullness of her lips in my mind, each time she pressed them against me. Her nose nuzzled into my neck, affectionate and sexy in its simplicity. Without thinking, I tilted my head back to give her more room. It went beyond a natural response; it just felt right. Perhaps I wasn't without instincts after all, merely lacking understanding and application.

Bella pulled away from me. I remained still, knowing she was coming back to me when she didn't move off of me. I hoped my restraint was obvious. Her hair fell against the side of my face just before I felt her lips on mine. They were so gentle that I didn't even respond. I simply accepted the tender affection she offered. The delicate contact was a strange combination of pleasure and burn; a slow smoldering that left my lips feeling more scorched with each kiss. I held back, waiting for her mouth to tell me she wanted something more from me. It was remarkably easy to control myself now that I understood what was required of me.

Bella's tongue flicked out gently against my bottom lip. I could see with absolute clarity how she was demonstrating all of the things she'd taught me this week, layering her efforts in a slow build toward deepening the kiss in accordance with her own requirements, thereby avoiding the awkwardness and miscommunication of some of our earlier attempts. I opened my mouth to her, subtly authorizing her plans. There was no worrying about pre-empting her or forcing her into something she didn't want, which could have easily happened if I was reading the signs wrong. I was sure of what she wanted, but this let _her_ make the choice.

Her tongue slowly explored my mouth. I didn't try to shadow her actions since I always seemed to be overly enthusiastic and miss the mark. Instead, I let the way her tongue felt against mine be my guide. She pulled her lips away slightly, coaxing my tongue out of my mouth. Until that point, the use of French kissing wasn't immediately obvious to me; her lips were every bit as sensual as her tongue. The pair combined in such a way as to fully enlighten me. Her lips swept ever so gently across mine, leaving our tangled tongues as our only connection. It sent my desire skyrocketing. Kissing was definitely an art form, and the artist could create his masterpiece in any number of mediums. Bella seemed to be an expert in them all.

Bella finished our kiss by taking each of my lips between hers, top then bottom, and adding the tiniest bit of pressure from her teeth as she released them. It was the hardest thing of all for me to resist, and I was fairly certain that she knew that, making it the final question on the kissing 101 exam. Her hair slipped along my cheek as she pulled back. She let go of my hands, and her weight settled against my stomach as she shifted backward.

"I think the blindfold worked." She peeled back the sleeves of my sweatshirt, smiling down at me with a new respect. She seemed as pleased about my progress as I was.

"I think so. All of the things you've been demonstrating were easier to see without my eyes." I laughed, realizing how crazy that sounded even though I knew she understood exactly what I meant.

She climbed off of me and settled back onto the blanket beside me.

"When you find someone you want to be with, the whole experience will be heightened. It's the combination of the physical and emotional that will make kissing her a really exceptional experience." Her voice was quiet and almost introspective as she spoke. I wondered if she was speaking from experience or from a desire to have such a relationship, but either way, she seemed almost sad.

"So my response was suitable?" I prompted, anxious for confirmation of what I thought I'd achieved.

"You read me like a book." Her words were just the assurance I needed.

"Good." I smiled to myself. Arriving at this milestone was not direct but also not beyond my capabilities. There was exaltation in proving this to myself. I glanced at my watch. "It's almost ten o'clock. We should be able to see the meteors soon."

When I looked over at Bella, she was staring up at the sky with determined concentration. I was happy that I'd chosen something that held her attention.

* * *

**A/N**: Did you see Smugward there at the end? Yeah, I don't think Bella was looking up at the sky with determined concentration either. Boys can be so dense.

What do you think? Blindfold anyone? Good kissing? Want to smack Smugward? Hug Bella? Is she handling herself well under the circumstances or is she in over her head? Do you want her to lose control? And speaking of control, what is up with Edward chasing our girl down every day to make out with her? Do you think he has a clue yet? Click that review button and tell me! I'd love to hear from you.


	10. Is This What You Meant About Women Being

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

A big thank you to **LightStarDusting** and **Scorp112**, my betas, without whom you might end up reading poorly punctuated, improperly worded, under-explained rubbish.

I have a favor to ask. Yes, me, a favor. I wrote another story called **_Out Of Choices_**. I know some of you have read it. It's old and completed. It was my first multi-chapter story. I wrote it without a beta and went too far with the vocabulary and not far enough with the punctuation. Even so, it's a story that's very near and dear to my heart. It needs **only a single review** to get to 2K. I so want to see it hit that mark. If anyone is interested in reading a **Vampward** and **Angryella** story, please give it a whirl and make this thankful author's almost-fulfilled dream a reality.

Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I'm still hitting my goal of answering all reviews. I really enjoy discussing the story with people so feel free to hit me up with questions, if you have any. I want you to know that I appreciate your support.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Is This What You Meant About Women Being Unpredictable?**

**BPOV**

My carefully compartmentalized feelings were anything but contained. They were raw and raging, and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep them from showing. Even if it did scare the shit out of me, I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty about it. When you spend a week practically connected at the lips to an enthusiastic, handsome (albeit clueless) guy that you have a desperate, life-controlling infatuation with, perspective tends to get a bit cloudy. Not that Edward didn't regularly make the proper perspective crystal clear. He pretty much smacked me in the face with it on a daily basis. The problem was that he muddied it just as often.

Edward's behavior was extreme in both directions, and I wasn't dealing especially well with either. When he kissed me and unleashed the full force of his intensity on me, I was a breath away from total surrender. When he withdrew and reverted back into his scientific state of mind, his conduct and words were often heart wrenching. In one sense, it was good; it was a reminder that what we were doing was, indeed, an experiment and that he had no feelings whatsoever for me. The problem was that when his lips were pressed against mine, it was pretty stinking hard to remember that. I knew that my feelings were the problem. I was indulging them with my stupid, little fantasies, but _he_ had planted the seeds of doubt all on his own when he lost control and kissed me. It seemed like I worked to find the right perspective, just to be shoved back into a situation that made it hard to remember which way was up. The back and forth left my head spinning.

The most dangerous fantasy of all, one I too frequently entertained, was the notion that his feelings for me could change at any time. No matter how many times I warned myself against it, I knew there was underlying truth in the statement. It would have been easier to keep my feelings hidden if I knew that there was no possibility of him caring for me. But there was a possibility. Or the possibility of a possibility. He _had_ liked me, once upon a time. Admittedly, it was a childhood crush and could by no means be equated with anything mature or even close to the strength of what I felt for him now. I still saw bits and pieces of that little boy in Edward, and goodness knows, the little girl he'd saved all those years ago was still hiding inside of me, waiting for someone to care about her. If he fell for me once, it could happen again.

And I wanted it to.

More than anything.

Edward's approach to kissing was to push through every kiss like a lead-foot with an addiction to speeding. He just barreled along with no idea where he was going, fuelled solely by a desire to find success. To me, that was as idiotic as driving down the Pacific Coast Highway and not stopping to enjoy the beautiful view. I wasn't expecting him to be moved by every kiss, just to get as much from the experience as he could. Okay, yes, I wanted him to tap into his emotions. I was sure he felt things, even if he didn't understand or express them. His modus operandi with respect to kissing, and I suspected any intimate situation, was like using a GPS - as uncomplicated as turning right when the stupid voice told him to. I wanted him to learn to read the map the old-fashioned way, to use his eyes, read the signs and take into account that sometimes there were detours that changed your course.

He finally broke free of his rushing on Friday night. The blindfold seemed to make the difference, either that or all of the practice we'd been doing paid off at rather coincidental time. It wasn't that I was complaining. I liked kissing Edward, but it was also confusing. Having him so close sent me into sensory overload - the heat of his body against mine; the taste of him on my tongue; his intoxicating scent that pulled me in; the feel of him under my fingertips. Those moments were euphoric and overwhelming. When the kisses ended, Edward's inevitable slip back into awkward introversion made me feel foolish and naïve. It was hard not to take his behavior personally. He seemed to be able to turn his desire on and off like a switch. I wasn't so lucky. My libido was like a leaky tap that couldn't be shut off. My shower massager got quite a work out.

Exams couldn't have come at a better time. I needed to regroup. Now that Edward had mastered the give and take of a good kiss, I had no idea where he wanted to move to next, and I wasn't sure what I wanted either. When I first considered entering into this crazy arrangement with him, I thought dragging it out as long as possible was the way to go. That would give him the maximum amount of time to open up to me. Now, I wasn't so sure. I hadn't figured in my own inability to keep the charade going. My feelings were clawing their way up to the surface a little more each day. It was only a matter of time before Edward would put two and two together. Maybe it was better to rush us along so I could experience as many things as he was willing to share with me. If my feelings were what would eventually drive him away, then there was no point in creeping along at a snail's pace when they were so close to being discovered.

Behaving myself was becoming more challenging. The more I touched him, the more I wanted to touch him, and I wasn't alone. Izzy wanted to sample the goods, too. I was now referring to my inner dominatrix by nickname because she was appearing more and more often in my head. The blame was Edward's, in my opinion. He was too good-looking and too good at pushing my buttons to keep her quiet. She was working against me at every turn. It was probably karma for the way I was challenging him to feel something. My covert intentions were potentially underhanded. At the very least, they were lacking full disclosure. Though it could be construed as lying, I had trouble calling it that. I wanted Edward to feel something, so I was using the tools at my disposal to press the issue. He'd created the opportunity; I was just taking advantage of it. It didn't feel like manipulation because everything I'd done was rooted in my honest and true feelings. If something I said or did made him develop feelings for me, wasn't that just a part of falling for someone? It wasn't as if I could control what he felt. That was up to him.

Deep down, I knew my rationalizing was a way to disguise my dishonesty so I didn't have to feel guilty about it, but the one piece of information that I'd failed to disclose would have stolen the opportunity to be with Edward away from me. I wasn't willing to give that chance up.

Edward didn't call me over the weekend. He was probably still reveling in his arrogance. Don't get me wrong, he did a great job with the kiss on Friday, but his smugness was written all over his face. He was overbearing and insensitive for the rest of the night. Shit like that was why he had no friends. It made him hard to relate to. I could barely stand to look at him, let alone be around him when he got like that.

The kiss we'd shared was the most intimate thing I'd ever experienced. It was deeper and more emotional than just our physical connection. There was so much mutual understanding between us in those moments. He'd never been so responsive and perfectly attuned with what was being offered to him. It was a far cry from the impatient, willful guy that first kissed me. That's why it felt like he cheapened it, after the fact, with his smugness. I didn't understand how he could be so open and perceptive one moment, and so full of himself, the next. Though I knew it was all a game to him - something to be achieved – it didn't hurt any less that he flagrantly treated it like that. I spent the rest of the night wishing I could take the moment back because he didn't deserve what I'd given him.

I emailed him late Sunday night to wish him good luck on his exams. Monday and Tuesday passed with no word from him. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. Wednesday I got a casual '_Care to get together tonight?'_ email response from him. I replied with a _no_. I had my calculus exam the next day and wasn't about to make time for him, given his indifference over the last few days. I recognized my own passive aggressiveness but was too irritated with him to rise above it. On Thursday, I avoided him like the plague and used the excuse of his aloofness to justify my behavior. Honestly, there was a part of me that didn't want to know if he was going to continue in his distant pattern. I knew I had no right to feel like a wronged girlfriend, but that was exactly how I felt. The turmoil of emotions inside me was like a tempest and everything I did was a lame attempt to fight against it before it ate me alive. After my Spanish exam, I tried to work thought my own bullshit, knowing I had to reclaim a healthier perspective.

Instead of concentrating on all the ways that I felt Edward had let me down, I decided to adjust my expectations. It wasn't easy to admit that I'd been hoping he'd be more sensitive to my feelings once he let me in, especially when I realized how stupid the wish was. He was, and would always be, Edward, and I had to stop expecting him to be anyone else. We were doing this experiment for different reasons, and as much as I wanted him to fall for me, there were no guarantees that he would. It was my own fault if I mistook his response for a reciprocation of my feelings. Even though I understood the notion, I knew I still had a lot of work ahead of me to fully accept it.

Friday was a beautiful day, and with my exams finished, I decided to take a hike. I was packing up the truck when Edward showed up unannounced. My stomach did a little flip flop flutter thing at the sight of him. Hey, I said I'd adjusted my expectations, not my feelings.

"Do you have plans?" His voice sounded apprehensive, even though his expression was calm.

"Just going for a hike up at Beaver Hill," I replied indifferently. "Trying to take advantage of the nice weather while it lasts."

"I thought you might like to have lunch together." He didn't look up at me when he spoke, so technically, he'd asked his shoes out to eat. I smirked at his timidity and went back to packing my stuff.

"You're welcome to come along, if you like. I have some snacks packed."

"I wouldn't want to intrude." So formal and coy. I rolled my eyes at his absurdity. He still hadn't looked up at me.

"Cullen, aren't we past all this awkward crap?" When he finally met my gaze, I continued. "If you want to come, please come, and if it's not your thing, no big deal. We'll catch up on the weekend or something."

"I'd like to come." Though his voice was quiet, the smile on his lips was genuine and wide.

I looked him over from head to toe. "You'll need to change out of those oxfords or your feet will be screaming at you."

He looked down at what he was wearing. "Khakis and a sweater aren't hiking gear?"

It wasn't until I looked up at his face that I realized he was joking. "I'll follow you back to your house."

**~8~**

Edward lagged behind me as I led the way through the trails. It was pretty obvious that he was out of his element. He seemed put off by every branch and bug we encountered, and especially by the uneven ground that truly made this a hike as opposed to a walk. Once we reached the summit, I unpacked the blanket and food that I'd brought, and we stretched out, enjoying the rare opportunity to soak up the sun. I slipped off my shoes and socks, shoved my earbuds into my ears and rolled over onto my stomach. Edward leaned back onto his palms and stared stoically off into the distance. I got about ten pages into my book when he tapped me on the shoulder.

"Is your hair naturally curly?"

I pulled out one earbud and looked at him like he had horns. "Excuse me?"

He picked up one of the curls that dangled off my shoulder and twisted it around his index finger. "It's just that I've seen your hair very straight and very curly, and I was wondering which state is natural for it."

It was things like this that made me fall into the trap of believing he could have feelings for me. Why would he be playing with my hair if he didn't like me? It was a very natural gesture to do to someone you cared about. Yet, I could make an equally strong, albeit more depressing, argument that Edward's curiosity bridged the gap between personal space invasion and inappropriately intimate contact quite nicely. He was _that guy_, I just didn't know if he was both.

"Somewhere in between, I guess," I mumbled noncommittally.

Edward's attention was on the curl. He let it go and watched it uncoil. "It's either one or the other, Bella." His tone was condescending, like I had insulted him by not labeling my locks appropriately.

"Who cares which it is?" I flipped my hair back, gathering it over my shoulder so it would be out of his reach.

"Don't take it away."

I turned and glared at him, perturbed by his demand. "Why are you playing with my hair? The gesture could be misconstrued, you know."

"I like the way it bounces back into its spiral, and how could it possibly be misconstrued?" He rolled his eyes at me, showboating, entirely sure that his conduct was normal. I huffed at his conceit.

"It's something you would do to someone you care about."

"I do care about you, Bella."

Even though I knew the words didn't mean what I wanted them to, my heartbeat sped up anyway. "Let me rephrase, it's not something you do to someone who's _just_ a friend."

"Well, you aren't just a friend."

I sat up and turned toward him, my mind reeling at his suggestion. "What am I then?"

"We have a partnership. I think that makes us more than friends because we have a deeper trust and understanding."

_Or no understanding whatsoever, depending on whom you ask._

"It still doesn't remove us from the realm of friendship. Only two things can: love and hate." I was adamant. There was no way I was going to let him confuse the two.

"I hope that we will be friends _and_ lovers, when we're done," he said quietly.

I swallowed hard, irritated and a tiny bit shocked by his choice of words. "I think the word _lovers_ means something different to me. Having a sexual relationship doesn't make you my lover."

"What does it make me then?" The amused look on his face made me even angrier. I was beginning to think his smugness was a disease. It seemed to be seeping into every corner of his personality.

"It doesn't make you anything except someone I had sex with."

"Which is, by definition, a lover," he stated, his tone dripping with self-righteousness.

I'd had enough of his patronizing bullshit. "Does that make a prostitute and her trick lovers?"

"Strictly speaking, yes."

I rolled my eyes and dug deeper, looking for a finer line of separation. "And a rapist and his victim, are they lovers?"

"No, because the sex is forced." He made no attempt to disguise the indignation in his voice, refusing to even consider my point of view.

"Oh, I see, _consent _makes the lovers. So a prostitute sleeps with random men because she wants lovers, not because it's the only way she can feed her kids?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "She's making a choice."

I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to shrug off his arrogant know-it-all attitude. I had to control my temper if I wanted to make him see my point. "And what about me? If I had said yes to Mike that night, would we be considered consensual lovers?"

"You weren't in any shape to make a rational decision." His dismissive tone bothered me to no end. Why couldn't he just see that what I was talking about wasn't so simple?

"But I might not have been so far gone that I couldn't have agreed to it," I whispered, wishing with everything in me that he'd try to see my side of things.

"What is your point, Bella?" I don't know why he bothered to ask. It was clear he didn't care to know.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my wits so I could condense everything I was saying into a single powerful statement. Even if he refused to see my point, I wanted him to know he was wrong. "Everything is so black and white to you. Do you never see the grey?"

"Why are you going out of your way to find fault in my statements?" He threw his head back and groaned. To him, _I_ was the difficult one. He wouldn't stop for even for a moment to consider anything I'd said. He was right, and that was the end of the story.

"Because you're not always right," I said matter-of-factly, knowing he wouldn't believe me. Resigned, I got to my feet and began packing up my things. The afternoon, and quite possibly our tentative relationship, was a bust in every way. We would never be able to get past our inability to compromise, and God knows, we'd never see eye-to-eye or be able to agree to disagree.

"I'm not always wrong either," he said disparagingly. I didn't even bother to acknowledge his comment.

When I yanked on the blanket and couldn't budge it, I glared at him. He glared right back, refusing to move.

I shrugged. "Keep it then. I'll buy another."

My hands were shaking by the time I started for my truck. Hoping to avoid any further discussion with him, my steps were even more rushed when I heard him scrambling behind me. I wasn't fast enough. He caught me by the wrist and spun me around. His hands cupped my cheeks and made it impossible for me to look away from him.

"Would it really be that bad if we were lovers?" His voice was quietly urgent and exuded a vehemence I didn't understand. He brushed his lips against mine.

"No," I whispered, letting his lips silence the remainder of my thoughts.

I wanted him to be my lover, but also for the word to hold all of the importance it held for me. His casual use of it removed the significance of the emotional bond involved, and that bothered me much more than knowing it would never have the same meaning to him. He was too close-minded to understand the distinction between sexual partners and lovers, or the notion of people doing something they felt they had no other choice to do. I wasn't even sure that he was capable of empathizing beyond any situation he'd encountered. I could teach him how to kiss and touch a woman, but I was kidding myself thinking that I could teach him to love.

For the first time since reconnecting with Edward, I felt helpless. Ignoring the fact that I was in over my head wasn't working. Trying to hide my feelings from him was an exercise in futility. I was reacting to practically every thing he said and did. I needed to get a hold of myself and change the way I was doing things. I needed time to think.

For now though, I would make one small change. I wasn't going to hide my disappointment from him. If he wanted me to accept his stubbornness and arrogance without question, then he was going to have to deal with my emotions and mood swings. In overlooking his social quirks, I was letting him treat me however he wanted, and it just wasn't working for me any longer. I wasn't being myself, and that had to change.

**~8~**

**EPOV**

Exams couldn't have come at a worse time. I finally understood what was expected from a kiss and was able to find something other than confusion in the connection, only to have the opportunity for further exploration unavoidably shelved. To make matters worse, my mother's return placed further constraints on my time. The burden of her relentless travel schedule was weighing heavily on her, so she'd taken a few impromptu vacation days. As it was, this time of the year always made her melancholy. The passing of my parents' wedding anniversary made her miss my father that much more. The fix for her mood invariably involved some time with me, and it was good to see her. It had been at least a couple of months since we'd spent more than a day or two together. Unfortunately, it also meant that I didn't have time for much else besides studying. Once she got her bearings, she roared back to life with drive and passion, which was a relief. Her depression was never easy to witness.

After my mother returned to her tour, I couldn't seem to catch up with Bella. I ended up going to her house to ask her to lunch. She'd already made plans to take a hike and invited me to go. It wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my time with her, nor was it something I enjoyed doing, but I went along anyway. Bella seemed a little preoccupied, and I was at a loss to find things to say to her, which is why we started arguing, I guess. She acted as if I was purposely misinterpreting her train of thought, but she wasn't exactly being forthcoming with her logic. Everything between us felt incredibly out of sync. I don't know what made me reach out for her. I only knew I wanted to halt the strangeness that punctuated our interactions, and kissing her Friday was the last time I could remember something positive and comfortable happening between us.

She didn't fight the kiss. In fact, she let me control it implicitly. She'd never done that before. I was gentle in exactly the way she'd been with me on Friday. I was patient and tried read her body language, but every response I got from her was passive. Her lips were borderline apathetic as they moved with mine. Something was bothering her, and I didn't know what to do to change it.

"What did I do wrong?" I whispered, pulling back from the kiss.

"Nothing. This is all me." Her voice was small, almost defeated.

"I don't understand."

"You're not supposed to," she mumbled, looking down.

"Maybe if I did, I could help." I moved my hands away from her cheeks, cupping her elbows lightly to encourage her to talk to me.

She moved back from me and adjusted her backpack. "You don't get to know what's going on inside my head, Edward. We may have a certain level of trust between us and agreed to take part in an experiment, but it doesn't obligate us to share our thoughts. We aren't confidants."

It wasn't like Bella to be closed off, not to mention that the reasons behind it might affect our partnership. "Doesn't the experiment require a certain level of communication, such as why you weren't responding?"

"If it becomes a problem for the experiment then it's fair game for us to talk about, but I'm not required to take part in something just because you're in the mood."

"You've never not been in the mood before." My statement sounded more like an accusation than I intended. I really just wanted to understand what was bothering her.

She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. I could hear the irritation in her voice when she finally spoke. "That comment was rude, presumptuous and completely uncalled for. I'm not at your beck and call, nor did I ever agree to be. If that's what you're expecting, then we may as well call the experiment off now."

"Is this what you meant about women being unpredictable?" I asked curiously.

Her eyes darted to mine and hardened in anger. "You're an asshole." She turned on her heel and stalked off. I followed her but lagged behind a bit while I tried to figure out where things had gone wrong.

I was silently grateful that she didn't drive off without me and leave me stranded, but I decided against telling her so. If the scowl on her face was any indication, she was still very angry. The drive home was silent. When she pulled up in front of my house, she didn't shut her engine off or even put the truck in park. I didn't take that as a positive sign.

"Where does this leave us?" I didn't want to push my luck, but given her last couple of statements to me, I had no idea if she even wanted to continue.

"We're exactly where we've always been," she muttered, not bothering to take her eyes off the road.

"I guess I'll wait for you to contact me, since today went so off course." It wasn't really what I wanted, but whatever was bothering Bella would be standing in our way until we talked about it. Clearly, she wasn't ready to talk about it now.

"Fine."

I got out of her truck without another word. Something told me I wouldn't be hearing from her for a while, if at all.

* * *

**A/N**: Duh, duh, duh. If my betas' comments are indicative, you all might have some very impassioned viewpoints about Edward's behaviour in this chapter. Or Bella's for that matter.

Did Edward deserve to be called an asshole? Was it fair of Bella to be so angry that Edward didn't call? Should Edward have explained the situation with his mother to Bella? Do you think doing that would have allowed them to avoid the fight they had? What do you think is going on with Bella? Is she going to contact Edward? Should Edward contact her?

Give me your opinions. I'm anxiously awaiting them. Click that review button and let them rip.


	11. Hell Is More Merciful Than School Dances

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Thank you to **Scorp112** and **LightStarDusting**, my betas. They're both really great at suggesting ways to improve each chapter. I added quite a bit after they beta'd this chapter, so _all mistakes are mine_.

I also wanted to take a second to mention Emergency Beta Service. What a wonderful group of talented people who are willing to help when you get stuck. Check them out on Twitter: (emergencybeta) for advice and appropriate links to their website. For that matter, you can find me there, too, (picklewinkle) if you're interested. Just use the at symbol in front.

I had trouble deciding whether or not to include Bella's POV in this chapter, thus the delay in posting it. She doesn't come off looking very nice in Edward's POV. Please cut her some slack. I promise she'll redeem herself in the next chapter.

Thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I can't express how much it means to me.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Hell Is More Merciful Than A School Dance**

**EPOV**

I cancelled the dinner reservations I'd made for Saturday night. My mother had sent tickets for an art show in Seattle that I was planning to ask Bella to attend with me, but after what happened on our hike, it would have felt like bashing my head against a brick wall - if I could have gotten her to agree to go at all. Even though I knew the whole thing was just a big misunderstanding, I felt culpable. The problem was that I had no idea what had upset Bella. I couldn't exactly make amends with an apology if I had no clue what I was apologizing for. Besides, she'd made it clear that she didn't want to talk about what was bothering her, so my hands were tied. It's not like she was innocent in what happened. I wouldn't go so far as to say that she was looking to pick a fight, but she was at least as obstinate and inflexible as I was.

The weekend came and went with no word from her. Monday morning, I looked for her at school but didn't find her. She was away on Tuesday as well. The email I sent her, inquiring why she was absent, went unanswered, as I expected it would.

Waiting for Bella to contact me was a lot harder than I thought it would be. The guilt of responsibility for our disagreement weighed heavily on me, and I couldn't seem to shake it, despite being unable to come up with what I'd done wrong. I wasn't ready for the experiment to be over. Admittedly, my reasons were purely selfish. I liked that Bella was willing to coach me and teach me how to nurture my instincts. Moreover, her kiss had been the inspiration for our entire undertaking, and I had yet to define what she brought out in me, let alone understand it to any satisfaction.

Bella returned to school on Wednesday. I could tell that she'd been away with a cold of some sort, judging by her red nose and hacking cough. Much to my disappointment, she didn't acknowledge me with anything more than a cursory glance when we passed in the hall. Thursday and Friday were much the same, although she was looking healthier with each day. I tried to hold her gaze when she looked at me, but she always averted her eyes after only a moment. There certainly wasn't enough time to figure out what I saw there. I hoped that once she was feeling like herself again, I'd hear from her, but no such luck. Another weekend passed without any communication. I sent her a second email, telling her I'd like to get past whatever was bothering her, agreeing to talk to her about it if she wanted. Just like with my other message, I got no response.

Her distant behavior continued into the following week. We had become much like what we began as - strangers with a history - except now I was keenly aware of her presence. I preferred my old indifference, which was easier in _every_ way. The oblivion she'd placed me in left me restless and irritated. My impatience with the situation was quickly evolving, progressing through upset and lapsing into hopelessness. Nothing about the way I felt was amiable or comfortable.

On Thursday, I watched her laughing with some friends over lunch in the cafeteria, unsuccessfully trying to discern the difference between their company and mine. Sick of getting the cold shoulder from her, I decided I was willing to accept rejection for some closure. I'd rather move on and put Bella and everything we'd been trying to do behind me, than continue in the limbo we were in. I approached her after school to make a last ditch effort to save our dwindling partnership.

"I know I said I would wait for you to contact me, but since it seems you have no intention of doing so, I thought I'd make a final attempt to connect with you." I did my best to keep my voice placid but my resignation seeped in.

"Good afternoon to you too, Cullen." She smirked sarcastically, avoiding my gaze while she rearranged something in her locker.

"I thought perhaps you'd like to do something together tomorrow night," I continued, ignoring her attempt to derail me. As the silence stretched between us, I braced for rejection. She endeavored to hide her reluctance by looking through her backpack, but she didn't fool me. I was sure her brush-off was coming. The rosy stain on her cheeks gave her away. Blushing in a difficult or uncomfortable situation was second nature for her. Of course she would do it when she was snubbing someone.

"Thanks, but I actually have plans," she said quietly. Her tone was almost _too_ polite.

"What are you doing?" The question popped out unbidden, and I didn't exactly try to hide my annoyance. I was insulted that she wasn't going to say anything to me about the experiment. Whether she wanted to continue it or not, I deserved a little common courtesy. If she noticed my irritation at all, she simply disregarded it, and pointed to the poster near her locker without a word. "You're going to the dance?" I asked incredulously.

"You're welcome to come with me, if you're interested." She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me. I was so sure that she was being intentionally mean, that I expected to see cruelty in her eyes. Instead, I saw warmth and hope. Both sentiments baffled me. In the context of the last two weeks, they seemed so out of place.

"Dancing's not really my thing," I blurted, uncomfortable with the mere suggestion of it.

"Well, I'd really like it if you could come, but suit yourself." She gave me an understanding smile, before slamming her locker closed and leaving. A few feet down the hallway, she turned back to me. "Around eight o'clock, if you change your mind."

I wouldn't change my mind. I'd avoided school dances for eighteen years. I wasn't about to change that, even for Bella.

**~8~**

Friday was the first time since our hike that Bella smiled at me as she passed me in the hallway. The experiment was over in my mind, so her attention was a moot point. Or it should have been. It aggravated me, and I couldn't put my finger on why. As the day wore on, my exasperation worsened. Everything she did, set me off - giggling with Alice Brandon in the parking lot when I pulled in, rolling her eyes at Emmett McCarty during the assembly, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear like Ben Cheney's critique of the latest Scott Pilgrim graphic novel was the most fascinating thing she'd ever heard. Her hair looked pretty today, falling in loose chestnut curls around her shoulders. My hand twitched when I remembered how soft it was.

The whole school was buzzing about the dance, and the fact that I was even aware, let alone thinking about it, was the pièce de résistance in my already shitty day. I scratched my head and wondered how the hell I ended up in this façade of my life. _I was not this guy,_ at least I didn't think I was, nor did I want to be. I wasn't above admitting that I didn't know what the hell was happening to me, though. A few weeks ago, I'd written off whatever was between Bella and me because I couldn't fathom asking her out on a date. Now, I was considering attending a godforsaken school dance to spy on her.

Who the hell was I kidding? I'd already made up my mind to go, I just didn't have the balls to own it yet.

It was troublesome that I couldn't put Bella out of my mind. It left me confused and unsettled. She was an enigma, and the desire to understand her was consuming. It shouldn't have been. Our coming together was part of an experimental undertaking, and since it was over, so should my thoughts of her and the experiment be finished.

Her invitation to the dance made no sense, whatsoever. She knew I didn't attend extracurricular school events. Their social demands were too taxing, and there was little incentive to work so hard when the payoff was almost nonexistent. I found it was better to avoid the misery they induced, altogether.

If she wanted to speak to me, a dance was a poor choice to accomplish that. The noise and lack of privacy would prevent any meaningful conversation. If she didn't want to speak to me, why invite me at all? To be polite? To ridicule me? She'd been less than courteous to me since our hike, so she certainly wasn't bound by good manners. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to believe that she would do it out of spite. It didn't fit with my understanding of who she was. Then again, maybe I didn't know her, at all.

I felt as if I'd been very accommodating, doing my part by emailing her and giving her some space. She needed time to come to grips with her overreaction on our hike, and I was happy to grant her that. I figured it would take her a few days to come to her senses. The thought that she'd ignore me indefinitely had never occurred to me. Wasn't maturity a reasonable expectation in regard to behavior? She was almost an adult.

It was hard not to take her behavior personally. I thought we were beyond trivial misunderstandings. Clearly, we weren't, or she would have come to me if she had an issue with something I'd said or done. In the past, we'd always been able to come to some kind of compromise. The reality that she didn't respect me enough to deal with what happened was hurtful. I guess, in that sense, it was personal.

The worst part of all was that I missed her. Her absence in my life was striking. Somehow, in the midst of the strange synergy of our physical relationship, she'd accidentally become my friend. It was easy to be myself around her, quirks and all. I'd never known that kind of acceptance in friendship. Now that I had, the idea of losing it was overwhelming.

None of my questions would be answered by going to the stupid dance. I wouldn't learn what I'd done to offend her or nail down her reasons for pulling out of the experiment. But maybe, if I met her halfway, we could find some common ground. Even if we couldn't, I'd settle for a small bit of understanding and the chance to save our friendship before it was too late.

**~8~**

It was like walking into a nightmare designed to torture me.

I hid behind the bleachers, completely disconcerted by the bizarre rituals unfolding before my eyes. I was a fish out of water. No, I was a fish out of water amongst fish out of water - beyond the ability to fit in with even the most awkward and socially inept. To say that I was uncomfortable was the grandest understatement ever uttered. Hell would have been more merciful, and I daydreamed that the flames of Hades would burst through the gym floor and incinerate me to put me out of my misery.

The gym had been transformed into a makeshift club. Lasers and strobe lights filled the room with a combination of fluorescent color and harsh white light. Moving light heads painted the room's occupants in brilliant LEDs that transformed from electric purples and cool blues to fiery reds and limey greens. The DJ was spinning mindless dance music that was nothing more than a droning rhythm of repetitive beats, entirely lacking in melody and harmony. The people dancing pressed against one another in lewd and indiscrete ways, completely unabashed. I was inundated by the shame they didn't have the decency to feel.

The swinging brown curls in the middle of all the commotion were the only reason I stayed in place. The strobe lights made her every movement appear in slow motion - hips swaying to and fro, arms twirling, head bobbing. As she moved her body to the music, she seemed blissfully unaware of her surroundings, and I was eternally grateful for her preoccupation. It was bad enough that I was at a dance, but even worse that I was only there so I could watch her. If she knew, it would be infinitely more uncomfortable. I just wanted to see what all of this meant to her, to try to understand her in her element.

A new song began. I only registered the change because of the introduction of a tinny synthesizer into the thumping bass that had dominated every song so far. Emmett McCarty grabbed Bella by the hips and pulled her body to his. She swatted at his chest playfully, but I noticed the way she backed away from him, or tried. He was a gorilla of a man, a muscular jock with a reputation for using his physical strength to get what he wanted. He was able to pull her tiny frame against his with no effort at all. I couldn't imagine Bella liking him or his attention. He was forceful and arrogant, invading her personal space in an overbearing manner. She gave him the song and then skillfully spun away from him into the center of a group of girls. He couldn't reach her there without being pushy and obvious. Luckily for Bella, Emmett was indiscriminate and replaced her with Lauren Mallory. Lauren seemed to prefer his attention, grinding on Emmett's hip like she was trying to get herself off. It was distasteful, to say the least. I shook off the shudder of disgust that threatened and refocused on Bella.

The easiness that I had always recognized in her was impossible to miss tonight. I watched her dance for six straight songs, envious of her energy and joie de vivre. There was a stream of males looking to partner with her, all drawn to her for varying reasons - her beauty, her warmth, her obvious proficiency on the dance floor. I found myself wondering how many of them wanted to be a part of her life in a more intimate way. The candidates became easier to pinpoint, the longer I observed her. Ben Cheney was one; Jasper Whitlock, another.

Ben was not much of a dancer. He couldn't seem to find the beat, and every movement was awkward and mistimed. Bella kept him talking so he would feel comfortable. I didn't like the way he bent toward her ear when he spoke to her. I liked the way she smiled at him even less.

Jasper was finessing a second dance from Bella when the music slowed. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. They stood frozen for a moment before Bella acquiesced and moved her hands to his shoulders. Though he was one of the few friends that I had, it didn't stop me from resenting his interest in her.

Unlike Ben, Jasper had impeccable rhythm and a commanding presence. He led Bella with grace and poise, and I wasn't the only person who noticed. All eyes seemed to be on them as they twirled around the dance floor. He held her with the sure hands that Bella had taught me, and when I recognized his intentions in the action, it pissed me off.

She was all he saw, and Bella seemed to be enjoying his attention, at least if the way she stared up at him was any indication. Their intensity was rankling. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't deny that the two were well matched, and if the way she was responding to him was any portent, she may well have been looking for something deeper than friendship with him. He might even be the reason that Bella pulled out of our experiment, which made me even more irritated.

I snuck outside for some air, needing some relief from the heat and noise of the gym. There was a group of kids to my left that were talking about Bella and Jasper, and the conversation caught my attention. The consensus was that the two were going out. I left when the conversation shifted to whether or not they were already sleeping together. It wasn't something I wanted to think about, let alone hear discussed. They didn't know Bella like I did. She wasn't the type of girl to enter into a sexual relationship at the drop of a hat, and I knew if she had feelings for Jasper, they were a recent development. She wouldn't have agreed to our experiment if she were interested in someone else.

When I got back into the gym, Bella was by the refreshments table, giggling with some girlfriends over red plastic cups of punch. She looked happy. She belonged in this social world; her verve was contagious. What stood out even more to me was how much I didn't belong. Being at this dance highlighted every flaw and deficiency I had. There was no comfort in the situation, no friends to be social with, and no desire to take part in the festivities - only a hollow and certain reminder that I was alone. I'd seen enough; it was time to leave.

Making my way to the door, I wove through the crowd and took one last glance in Bella's direction. I froze in place when I realized that she was with Mike Newton. He had somehow talked her away from her friends and backed her against the edge of the stage, using the sound system's speakers to camouflage his bullying. Mike's hand was under Bella's chin and she looked upset. Everything around me went red. I pushed past people, shoving those who wouldn't get out of my way. I had to get to her before he did anything to hurt her.

When I was close enough to be heard I yelled, "Get your fucking hands off of her." Mike turned to look at me, eyes glazed and probably drunk. I ran the last of the distance that separated us. "I said get your fucking hands off of her."

"Tell your bodyguard to get lost," Mike demanded, ignoring me and keeping a firm hold on Bella. Bella's fearful eyes darted to mine.

In his arrogance, Mike had underestimated me, believing that I wouldn't take action until he addressed me directly. I didn't hesitate, grabbing his arm with one hand and grinding my knuckle into the pressure point just above his elbow. He yelped in pain, immediately letting go of Bella. I stepped between them, twisting my finger with as much force as I could. Mike's knees buckled under the pain, and I let him drop to the ground. I could feel Bella's trembling hands on my hips.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll walk away now," I warned Mike.

He staggered to his feet, looking up at me with clouded eyes. His hands came out in front of him, not to challenge me but to protect his body, in case I moved toward him. He edged backward cautiously.

"And if I ever see you around Bella again, the pain you felt today will feel like a walk in the park, comparatively."

I waited for him to leave before turning around to ask Bella if she was okay. I could see tears welling in her eyes. Instead of waiting for her to answer me, I put my arm around her waist and led her outside. She was speechless and shaking.

"Bella, would you like to go home?"

She nodded. I helped her into my car and then bent down to be at her eye level.

"Did you come with anyone?"

"Alice," she whispered.

"I'll just go tell Alice that I'm giving you a ride, so she doesn't worry. I won't say a word about what happened. You can tell her about Mike later, if you want to."

The ride home was silent. Bella seemed to be lost in her head, and I had no idea how to make her feel better. I tried to focus on the fact that she wasn't seriously hurt, but I was angry that she had to deal with Mike's abusive behavior again. I couldn't find the right words to express myself without making it sound like I was scolding her, so I did the only other thing I could think of. I reached out for Bella's hand and held it gently in my own. After I pulled into her driveway, I raised it to my mouth and kissed it softly, hoping she would understand that everything would be okay. Saying the words felt so condescending.

"That's twice," she murmured.

"He won't come near you again. I'll see to that, Bella." It was a promise I intended to keep, at any cost.

"No, I mean that's twice you've helped me when I couldn't help myself." She looked up at me, her eyes wide and vulnerable.

"That's what friends are for."

Her gaze shifted downward slowly, her lids heavy, and she pulled her lips between her teeth. It wasn't the reaction I'd expected. I thought my words would be comforting. Instead, they seemed to upset her further. When she spoke, her voice was so soft that I wasn't sure I was meant to hear it. "Yeah, I guess they are." She thanked me quietly for driving her home and got out of the car.

As I watched her walk toward her porch, I could tell by the way she moved that she was upset. I just wasn't sure if it was the night catching up with her or if I'd somehow made things worse for her. It occurred to me that maybe the way she'd treated me during the last two weeks was how she wanted things between us – distant and detached. Maybe it was better if I just stayed away from her.

I didn't like the idea of not having her in my life. That much I understood now. Regardless of the state of our friendship, I'd never regret going to the dance since I was able to help her get away from Mike. Still, I had no idea where tonight left things between Bella and me.

* * *

**A/N**: So… um… er…

I promise Bella's not as horrible as she appeared to be in Edward's perception. In fact, this illustrates why I love dual viewpoints, because no two people see the same thing the same way.

Do you think Edward is seeing things clearly? Was he having a pity party? Was he right to give Bella space or should he have just gone to talk to her earlier since he broke down and did it anyway?

What do you think is going on in Bella's mind?

Did you swoon over WhiteKnightWard?

Any guesses about what will happen in the next chapter?

Leave a review and let me know what you think. It's almost as good as WhiteKnightWard.


	12. I'm Not Quite Sure What I'm Doing Here

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Thank you to my betas **Scorp112** and **LightStarDusting**, and to everyone reading and reviewing. Your support means everything to me.

* * *

**Chapter 12: I'm Not Quite Sure What I'm Doing Here**

**BPOV**

Getting sick with a cold forced a break from Edward and gave me a lot of time to think.

And rethink.

And over-think.

It took me days to get over being angry with myself once I realized what I'd done. Of course his expectations were skewed. I'd made sure I was _always_ available, just on the off chance that he'd show up or call. In retrospect, it had been a very desperate way to behave. He'd certainly never asked me to give up everything else in my life. I'd done it willingly, as if my dedication would somehow make him like me. The only thing it made me was an idiot.

Hoping to bring my life back into balance, I started by apologizing to my friends. Luckily, they didn't hold a grudge, even when all I offered was a vague explanation for what had kept me away. Rose and Alice folded me back into their afterschool and weekend plans without hesitation. Knowing me the way they did, they must have sensed that I needed the help, even though I never asked for it directly. Alice didn't pester me about why I was mopey; instead, she extended her silent reassurance in hugs and smiles. Only her eyes betrayed her suspicion that there was more to my story than I let on. Rose refused to let me wallow, encouraging me to get out of the house in her lovingly pushy way. They kept me busy, and while it wasn't doing much to temper my feelings for Edward, at least I felt a little less pathetic.

I wondered what they would say if they knew exactly how stupid I'd been over a guy. How I'd agreed to give up my virginity to him despite the fact that he openly admitted he was looking for a no-strings arrangement. How I'd stopped acting like myself around him because I was afraid it would scare him away if he found out that I'd fallen for him. Of course, I'd promised Edward I'd keep the details of our agreement to myself, so I _couldn't_ turn to my friends for advice on how the hell to deal with my feelings or what to do. I was completely and utterly on my own to figure things out.

Realistically, I knew what was going on with me. Explaining it to Edward was an entirely different animal. My errors weren't compatible with his logic. My heart's wish made me mistake the way he got caught up in what we were doing for the belief that he might be developing feelings for me. Let's face it, any explanation I could offer for how I'd behaved when he didn't contact me after our night of stargazing would be nothing more than excuses to him. He couldn't understand that it felt like rejection because his rationale for everything was so strongly rooted in his own twisted form of emotionless dogma. Worst of all, I couldn't justify the things I'd done without alluding to how I felt about him.

Which lead to the crux of my problem - did I have to come clean about what was in my heart to move forward with Edward?

I struggled with that question for days because I knew that being honest about my feelings would most likely mean the end of our experiment and us. I wasn't ready to give Edward up. Yet, pretending that I didn't care about him had proven impossible and made my behavior appear erratic and irrational. Because I was afraid to lose him, I'd traded a little bit of my dignity away every day until I'd lost sight of who I was. I wanted to be what Edward needed, but I had to stay true to myself, too. I didn't know how to do both.

The time away from him was a bit of a wake up call for me. It forced me to see that I didn't hold the special place in his life that I'd hoped I might. The only contact from him was a couple of small emails. Not that I was expecting a grand gesture from him… or anything, at all. He'd been very clear about the fact that he would wait for _me_ to get in touch with _him_. I guess that was his way of giving me space to figure my shit out. His emails taunted me from their home in my inbox - a digital reminder that things were unsettled between us, and that _my actions were to blame_. I tried so many times to reply but ended up deleting every response I composed because they all felt contrived. Small talk was a poor substitute for dealing with the real issue.

What could I really say to him, though? _I'm sorry I lost my mind, Edward. By the way, I liked you when the experiment began, so I've been deceiving you all this time. And for the record, I've fallen for you… hard. Wanna have sex?_ As honest as each word was, I didn't want to say any of it to him, nor was I sure I actually needed to.

School became an exercise in futility. I watched him to the point of ridiculousness, all in the hope that I'd glean something from him that could help me decide what direction to move in. All I managed to do was notice that he rarely noticed me. He seemed so untouchable – content in his impenetrable microcosm of logic and detachment. For the first time, his preoccupation seemed less lonely and more enviable. I wasn't capable of it, but I craved the complacency and equanimity it provided.

The brief eye contact we made while passing one another in the halls unnerved me. I couldn't look him in the face without feeling ashamed of myself.

Stuck in my confusion and indecision, a few days of not speaking to Edward slipped into a week, and then two. I felt paralyzed – damned whether I did or didn't. The longer I avoided talking to him, the harder approaching him became. I'd dug myself a hole that I didn't know how to get out of.

Yet, despite his indifference and my ambivalence, I missed him.

When he showed up unexpectedly at my locker and spoke to me in his condescendingly formal way, I panicked and said the first sarcastic thing that came to my mouth. _Good afternoon to you too, Cullen._ It was a stupid, knee-jerk reaction and not at all what I should have said. Worried that I was about to screw things up between us even more, I took a deep breath and tried to focus my thoughts. I intentionally pushed aside the shame of my actions and the fear of losing him, and what remained was _relief_. He was there - close enough to touch - not just a problem to be solved or the object of my dreams but a living, breathing person with whom I had a connection. Unsurprisingly, there was longing, excitement, and hope, too. I wanted him there, to have this with him, regardless of what _this_ was. And while none of the feelings were unexpected, the respite from the guilt and shame I'd been drowning in made me feel more like myself.

Suddenly, what I'd been doing hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd been sabotaging myself, so fixated on losing Edward that I was practically pushing him away with the lies I was perpetuating – lies about the kind of person that I was and what I wanted. It was no wonder that he'd given me space the last two weeks. I was a loose canon - a self-fulfilling prophecy - all because I'd gone against my instincts. Keeping the truth hidden was pointless, if it prevented me from being true to myself.

Realistically, whether or not Edward stayed had never been in my control. Even if I was everything he needed me to be, there were no guarantees. I could only be myself, and let the chips fall where they may. It was okay to bend to make him comfortable, but I didn't have to be someone else because something I felt or did was inconvenient for him. In other words, I didn't have to tell him what was in my heart to move forward, but I did have to honor it.

My cheeks were beet red. It was impossible not to feel embarrassed that it took me two weeks to see the answer that had been staring me in the face all along. On top of it, I felt rather stupid, but beating myself up about it was a waste of time. I'd already wasted so much time and energy, worrying and being afraid. That ended now. If it was truly as simple as being myself, I could do that with no difficulty. With almost eighteen years of experience under my belt, I excelled at being me. One might even say that I'd perfected it.

Our separation over the last two weeks had been my fault, so I needed to reach out to Edward to make up for it. For a split second, I considered taking him up on his offer to go out. The problem was that I'd already made plans with Alice. If I accepted his invitation, I'd just be falling back into my old pattern of giving up everything in my life for him. This was my chance at a redo, and I didn't want to start it off by repeating mistakes I'd already made. Instead, I took a chance and invited him to join me at the dance. The idea of our bodies moving together in a dark room was very appealing - sort of like an exaggerated version of the blindfold - if I could get him to relax enough to just let loose. I knew Edward well enough that I expected him to turn me down. Dancing wasn't exactly his thing.

Instead of dwelling on his resistance, I decided to make it absolutely clear to him that I wanted him there. Keeping my feelings hidden from him was no longer an option. I owed that to myself. The profound internal change in me was nothing more than a subtle difference to the outside world. To Edward, it might be completely invisible, but it would let me be _me_, without all the guilt and confusion.

**~8~**

I didn't bring up the dance again. Edward had given me plenty of time and space to make up my mind, so I wanted to return the favor. Since I didn't expect that he'd actually go, I made a contingency plan to ask him out to lunch on Saturday. It was important to show him that I was still in the experiment, but equally important to keep things low-key. We'd had enough stress lately.

With my change in attitude, I felt lighter and freer. I found myself smiling frequently, often for no reason. Unfortunately, the smile I gave Edward when he passed me Friday morning seemed to aggravate him more than please him. I knew that I had fences to mend with him, so I didn't let it get me down. He seemed high-strung all day long, and I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with my dance invitation. I just couldn't decide if his uptightness meant he was actually considering it or not. Since it wasn't my decision, I pushed the thought from my mind. He had to make up his own mind.

The dance was fun. It was liberating to push everything out of my consciousness and let the music tell me what to do, not to mention the rush from helping Alice with Jasper. Alice had finally decided to do something about the crush she had on him. While she was tripping the light fantastic with Tyler Crowley, I took the opportunity to talk Jasper's ear off about her and point out what he was missing. I was thrilled when Jasper asked her to dance. They made a cute couple and deserved to be happy together.

I was so focused on Alice and Jasper that I didn't notice Mike's approach. He came at me from behind and threw both of his arms around me; one looped around my shoulder to cover my mouth and the other stretched down my torso. His free hand grabbed at me roughly until his fingertips groped my pussy. I screamed, but it was muffled by his palm and indiscernible over the loud music. Despite my thrashing and jerking, I couldn't get away from the hold he had on me. The more I resisted him, the tighter his grip became. He forced me to move, towing me along awkwardly until the speakers hid us from view. I had to do something to keep myself safe, so I promised to be quiet in exchange for him unhanding me. He reeked of beer, and I thought I might be able to use his intoxication against him somehow. I didn't have to. Edward appeared out of nowhere and did some ninja-like knuckle trick on Mike's elbow that brought Mike to his knees in about three seconds flat. In my fearful state, it didn't even occur to me that Edward shouldn't have been there. There was just an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. I didn't hear what Edward said to Mike. As soon as I realized I was safe, my adrenaline-filled body started shaking, and my brain shut down. I couldn't think, let alone dance, so I let Edward take me home when he offered.

The scene with Mike replayed in my head as we drove. Even though I was pretty sure it wouldn't have gone much further - that what happened was just a bad choice by an idiot who was too handsy when he was drunk - it was too easy to imagine what could have happened. Let's face it, he'd already shown me what an asshole he could be. I wanted to erase the whole thing from my memory - the fear, the helplessness, the violation. Edward was the only person that I could imagine making me feel safe, but I couldn't ask for his help. He'd already gone above and beyond by helping me get away from Mike in the first place.

When Edward dropped me off, I was a breath away from falling apart. It was the last thing I wanted to do. Mike didn't deserve a single ounce of my energy or emotion. With a whispered thank-you and goodbye, I made my way into my house, struggling not to blink and willing the tears not to fall. To fight against the way I was feeling, I immediately stripped off the outfit I was wearing. I wanted no part of anything Mike had touched. It wasn't enough to give me a mental separation from what had happened. To comfort myself, I put on my favorite tank top and flannel pajama bottoms. I was pulling my hair into a high ponytail when I heard a knock on the door.

**EPOV**

I waited, watching to see that Bella got into the house safely. I saw the door close and the light inside turn on. All I had to do was press the gas pedal, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. It felt wrong to drive away when she was upset. I should have asked her to stay and talk with me, or invited her to come to my house. Instead, I'd waited for her invitation, which was exceptionally shortsighted, given what she'd been through with Mike. I should have been the one to reach out tonight, and I needed to rectify my mistake.

I knocked on the door feeling apprehensive about what state I might find Bella in. I nearly expected tears when she opened the door, but to my surprise, she greeted me with graceful composure and invited me.

"I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here," I admitted quietly, "but I couldn't leave knowing that you weren't okay. I know that we haven't spoken in almost two weeks, and that the last time we did, I upset you. I still haven't figured out how, but that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say is that I don't like the distance between us. I don't know if you've intentionally shut me out or simply lost interest in the experiment, but I can't stand by and do nothing when you're hurting. I'd rather try to help you and get shot down, than to wait around for you to come to me and do nothing but feel rejected when you don't call." She looked at me with wide eyes, tears brimming. "In my experience, it's better to be with someone who cares about you when you're feeling alone and overwhelmed. And if the experiment is what's keeping you away, then let's just forget it. I'm far more worried about how you're doing right now, than about figuring out all that other physical stuff. You're my closest friend, and I've missed you."

She crashed into me, wrapping her arms tightly around my torso as she started crying. Even though I'd been dreading that reaction from her, it really wasn't as bad as I'd anticipated. Not her crying, of course. Her sobbing was quite bad, enough to soak the fabric of my shirt where her face pressed against it. I meant that the discomfort of letting her cry in my arms wasn't as terrible as I expected it would be. It actually felt kind of rewarding to be supportive, especially after what Mike had done. I had to admit that it felt good to be useful instead of insignificant and sidelined.

I tried to soothe her by gently rubbing her back and whispering calming messages, reminding her that Mike couldn't hurt her and that she was safe. Unfortunately, it did nothing to slow down her tears. Her sobbing went on for so long that I began to wonder if perhaps I wasn't very good at providing comfort. It's not as if I'd tried before, at least not with anyone aside from my mother. To avoid feeling helpless and incompetent, I started talking to distract myself.

"I understand the need to be held by someone when you're upset. My mother held me like this the day my father died. I didn't think I'd ever stop crying. She told me that everything would be okay… but it never was again, so I won't placate you with meaningless words, Bella. I can't pretend to understand how you must be feeling, but I make you this promise: I'll hold you for as long as you need me to.

"It's basic biology, really. Human beings need touch to thrive. Massage has been shown to boost immune function and lower stress hormones in premature babies. A mother's touch stimulates the release of pain-suppressing endorphins in an injured child. Even a simple touch on the shoulder can reduce the heart rate and lower blood pressure. And of course there's the touch between a woman and a man." As I spoke, I slid my hand under Bella's ponytail and along the bare skin just below her neck, hoping to back up what I'd been nattering on about so it didn't seem like mindless drivel.

An idea hit me, and while it was a little unconventional, everything about our relationship was, so I hoped that she'd forgive me that it was a tiny bit forward.

"Come with me to the couch. I want to try something."

After she tucked herself into my side, she allowed me to guide her into the living room. Her sobbing had slowed to sniffles and gasps, but her eyes were still wet. Once we got to the couch, I sat down and pulled her into my lap. Before she could protest, I wrapped my arms around her securely and settled her body snug against my chest. The way she was cradled against me helped quell the surge of protectiveness that I had yet to rid myself of. I wondered if anything could possibly make her feel safeguarded after what Mike had put her through, but hoped my arms might foster some security. If nothing else, she could lean on me instead of holding herself up, and maybe find it within herself to calm down.

"When words fail, touch is a good way to convey that you care." I traced Bella's spine slowly with my fingers, paying extra attention to where her skin was uncovered. "If you think about it, touch is a very intimate form of communication between consenting partners. It doesn't have to facilitate sex. There is a lot of comfort and relaxation to be exchanged."

I continued to caress her back, letting my hand drift to different spots, doing my best to keep my touch light and unassuming. While she was still far from composed, Bella's breathing was beginning to slow down. I drew circles on her hip with my other hand. She seemed to like what I was doing, nestling her head into my neck. As the minutes passed, I could feel her weight increase against me as she finally began to relax. Once she seemed peaceful, and I was sure the crying and upset had passed, I stilled my hands.

"Don't stop," she murmured. "What you're doing feels so nice."

Her request surprised me a little, but I was happy to hear that I was helping. I resumed my efforts, sliding one hand up her back and smoothing the other across her hip. When my fingers moved along the pale skin that peeked out between her top and bottoms, Bella sighed softly. I hoped it meant she was feeling better, but when I opened my mouth to ask her, she began to speak.

"When I was a little girl, I used to sit on my dad's lap while he watched baseball. He would tell me all about the players, and we'd talk about the game. It was one of the few ways we connected. After my mom left, he shut me out. All he gave me were empty promises about next time, except next time never came. It's been a long time since anyone was this caring with me."

"I hope it's not too forward, after what happened tonight." I didn't really think it was, but I wanted her to know that I was heedful of her state of mind. She'd been through enough.

"It's not," she told me quietly. "It's exactly what I needed."

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Bella started to say something and then stopped herself. Following a few moments of hesitation, she began again. "I have a favor to ask of you… I'm warning you… you're going to think it's strange… like totally out in left field, if you'll pardon the baseball idiom."

"What is it?"

"Will you take your shirt off?" she blurted as a telltale crimson color seeped across her cheeks.

I blinked hard in confusion. "Err… excuse me?"

"I know it sounds totally bizarre." She balled her hands and rested them on her lap before shaking her head a little. " I just thought… if I could feel your warmth… it's the gesture of… Look, it doesn't matter. I'm sure I sound like a nutjob."

"It's a little unexpected, but I don't think you sound like a nutjob," I offered, hoping it was enough to prompt a more detailed explanation from her. I didn't want to put her on the spot by asking for one, but I was exceptionally curious about what she was after.

"When you hold me like this, I feel safe. It's the exact opposite of the helplessness and betrayal that Mike made me feel. I just thought that if I could take the comfort a little bit further that it might erase the lingering vulnerability. It's stupid, I know."

"It's not stupid. It's easy to understand why you'd want to forget the way Mike made you feel."

"It's more than that," she admitted, biting her lip and looking down. "The warmth of your skin will bring me physical comfort, but I also want the emotional comfort from the intimacy of being held like that, by you."

"Then there are two reasons to do it." I was glad that my voice didn't betray the assurance in my words. A half dozen reasons that warned me against taking my shirt off popped into my mind, but I pushed them out knowing how hard it must have been for her to ask. I wanted her to have what she needed, if for no other reason then to rid herself of any remaining effects from Mike's audacity.

I lifted my arms a bit, and Bella shifted to give me room to shrug out of my sweater and t-shirt. Swallowing hard, I tried to ignore the awkwardness of being half-naked in her living room, running my fingers through my hair to distract myself. She gave me a small smile to encourage me, and then tucked her head under my chin, subtly relaxing against my chest. I think she knew that eye contact would make me feel more conspicuous.

It didn't take long for me to loosen up and actually enjoy holding her that way. There was definitely something appealing in it, maybe the softness of her cheek on my skin or the way the scent of her hair seemed to envelop me. It was strange that whatever had kept us apart for the past couple of weeks had simply melted away. I had no explanation for it other than the fact that Bella needed a friend and I was in the right place at the right time, and that was good enough for me.

I gently stroked her back, enjoying the softness of her hair on my hands when I met with it. Bella seemed a tiny bit restless, and I wondered if she was still struggling with what happened with Mike.

"Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?"

"There's not much to tell," she stated matter-of-factly. "Mike grabbed me from behind and covered my mouth so no one could hear me scream. And then he copped a feel on my crotch."

"He what?" Her words momentarily stunned me.

"He was drunk. He probably doesn't even remember doing it." I resented her attempt to downplay Mike's actions. He needed to be held accountable for what happened.

"That doesn't excuse his behavior." I cupped the back of her head with my hand, hoping to comfort her further. It used to help when my mother did it to me. "I'm sorry, Bella."

"Don't be sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You should report him. He needs to be reprimanded, whether he was intoxicated or not." I meant my words to be gentle, but they weren't. They were vehement and demanding.

"It's still his word against mine. I think it's better to just steer clear of him."

Her generosity with Mike the first time around was completely unappreciated by him. He'd learned nothing, not even to thank his lucky stars, much less to treat her with veneration. He didn't deserve her kindness a second time. Even though I disagreed with her, it was easier to allow for the possibility that her choice was the right way to handle things, than to chance upsetting her. "Maybe."

"Thank you for being there," she whispered.

I nodded, not really knowing what the appropriate verbal response was. What I did know was that Mike needed to learn respect, and I was going to make sure the lesson was unforgettable. In fact, I knew exactly the right person to help me out with it. I was deeply engrossed in the planning when Bella's quiet voice broke through my concentration.

"I owe you an apology, Edward. I'm really sorry for the way I treated you the last two weeks. It was wrong. I was having second thoughts about the experiment-"

I interrupted her. "Stop, Bella. You don't owe me an explanation. If the experiment was the reason you stayed away from me, we should forget about it."

She chose her words thoughtfully. "It's just that kissing you made me… feel things, and it was… confusing. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to go through with our agreement."

Her admission made the skin on the back of my neck prickle. I swiped at it ineffectually, knowing that my hand wouldn't take away the burn of my embarrassment. Hearing that the affection we'd shared had triggered a similar effect in both of us, made my head spin for a few moments. I felt so obvious, like every touch we'd exchanged had betrayed my inner turmoil and bewilderment.

"So that's why you backed out," I muttered, more to myself than to Bella.

"It wasn't about backing out. I stayed away because the confusion was clouding my judgment. I wasn't treating you fairly, and I didn't want to make things worse between us. It took time to process what I was feeling and understand that it was normal. Have you ever felt something… like that? Something situational that you couldn't explain, something that made you feel confused or unsure, maybe?"

I closed my eyes and gulped, swallowing the hysterical confession that threatened. If I offered up my own confusion, I'd be doing exactly what Bella had worked so hard to avoid. It wasn't fair to muddy the waters when I didn't understand what I was feeling.

Bella's ability to comprehend her emotions on more than a very basic level was enviable. It may have taken her time to grasp the overall meaning, but she'd gotten to the heart of the matter, unlike me. I was as dubious and perplexed as I was the first time she kissed me outside Mike Newton's house.

"I don't think I have, but stranger things have happened." It wasn't an outright lie, nor was it a denial, but it was as much as I felt comfortable admitting. The truth was that I didn't explicitly know what I felt, not the depth or persistence or even the exact existence of my feelings, only that I felt differently about her than I did about any other girl I'd ever crossed paths with.

"It probably sounds foreign to you," she allowed. "You're a self-admitted logician. Emotions are for girls or people with no sense – a silly and frivolous pastime, and certainly not capable of standing up against reason. In a way, you're right. There have been days I wished I wasn't so emotional. They can get in the way, like they did the last couple of weeks. I want you to know that I wasn't staying away to prove a point. I needed a shift in my perspective and a clear understanding of what I was feeling before I could move forward."

"And are you moving forward? Because it's okay if you aren't." I certainly didn't want her to think she owed me her participation.

"I'd like to, if you're still willing to try with me." Her voice was quiet and unsure, mirroring the way I was feeling.

"I want you in my life, experiment or no experiment. I'm more than happy to continue with our agreement, if you're sure that's what you want."

The conversation was silenced by my sentiment. The words hovered around us, unintentionally heavy and insistent in their significance. At least I could be forthright about my desire to have her in my life, if not about the strange mixture of emotions she caused in me. I felt an odd comfort from the knowledge that Bella was afflicted with situational feelings. At least I had some effect on her. She certainly had an effect on me. I was hopeful that I could get to the bottom of whatever it was that she made me feel and come to terms with what was likely a reaction of circumstance, as Bella had suggested. It wasn't permanent for Bella. I had no reason to assume it would be for me either.

A few minutes later, Bella tipped her head back and looked up at me. I gave her a tight smile, not understanding what she needed. She shifted her body until she straddled my lap and then lifted her tank top over her head.

"Wh-what are you doing?" It took all of my concentration to keep my eyes on her face while I spoke.

"Relax, Edward. They're boobs. They won't bite you."

"I know what they are, just not why they're… out."

She pressed herself back into my chest and settled her head on my shoulder. "I thought the skin-to-skin contact would intensify the comfort. Besides, it's only fair if we're both exposed."

Once her arms were wrapped around me, she sighed contentedly. I didn't want to take any of her peacefulness away from her, so I did my best to relax again, inhaling deeply to force new air into my lungs. Despite my best efforts to ignore it, the sensation of her pressed against me was the only thing I could concentrate on.

"Is it helping?" I asked, my voice cracking halfway through the question.

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed. "At least it's helping one of us." She turned her head into my neck, unsuccessfully trying to muffle her giggle. The way her body vibrated against mine only intensified the sensation of her against me.

"I wasn't expecting you to… never mind."

"Tell me," she urged.

"Your bra… what I mean is… every time you breathe… well, the fabric, umm…"

"I could take it off if it's bothering you."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know, but if the fabric is making you uncomfortable, I'd be glad to ditch it for you." She sat back and looked at me, reaching behind her body with both hands.

"No, no, it's fine," I insisted, moving my hands to stop her.

"You're going to see them eventually. Now's as good a time as any."

"Tonight is not the right time." I couldn't imagine worse timing.

"When would an appropriate time be for a rack inspection then?" she teased.

"They're _breasts_, Bella."

"You're only saying that because you've never touched one. Once you've had your way with a boob, or more importantly, a nipple, I doubt you'll object to a slang term." She bit her lip to keep from smiling, but the corners of her mouth turned up anyway.

"What's wrong with the word _breast_?"

"Absolutely nothing, but in the throes of passion, you'll want to express yourself with words that get you and your gal pal worked up. Think about it. You're hot and heavy, kissing, touching. You strip down, look into her eyes and say 'I want to put my penis in your vagina.' It's just not gonna fly." She barely got the last few words out through her giggling.

I couldn't help but laugh, too. "You may have a point there."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Edward. If you're curious about tits, there's no better person to ask than a woman who has a pair."

"I just wasn't sure about the state of our experiment. I meant it when I said we could forget the whole thing if it's coming between us."

"It doesn't have to come between us if we don't let it. How about we chalk up the last couple of weeks to a dead battery, and this can be our recharge, as long as you promise not to use jumper cables on my nipples."

"Bella!"

"What? I'm just trying to lighten the mood. You've been staring for the past five minutes. I don't think I'm being too presumptuous in saying you're interested in them."

I knew my cheeks were red, and not because she knew I was staring at her breasts. I didn't have the slightest clue about how to touch a breast, how hard or soft my caress should be or even what sort of movement would be pleasurable. "Your bra is very pretty," I mumbled, trying to justify my staring. As if her breasts weren't distracting enough, the bra she wore was a sight all on its own, feminine and sexy, dark pink cups covered with contrasting black lace.

"Let me get this straight. You've got a pair of boobs staring you in the face and you want to talk about my bra?"

"I'm working up to it." I hadn't given any thought to being in this situation. The mixture of emotions and urges was overwhelming, not to mention the dichotomy between my desire to touch her and what I thought was best for her in the situation.

"I should take it off just to force you to focus," she quipped.

"I think we both know that I'm not having any trouble with my focus," I said with a smirk.

"Well, let me help you along then." She picked up my hands and held them to her breasts. If I weren't already blushing, the action surely would have triggered one. Instead, I just turned a few shades redder while my eyes popped out of my head. "Close your eyes, and keep them closed," she instructed.

I did as she told me, hoping it would make me feel a little less awkward. Her hands moved away from mine, and I was left half-cupping her breasts, feeling exceptionally embarrassed and anxious but trying to pretend I was neither.

"Just breathe and feel. Trust your instincts."

I internalized her words and did my best to apply them to the situation. I thought about her bra and how pretty she looked. I thought about what Mike had done to her, and about how open, giving and brave she was in spite of it. I thought about how exposed she was and the trust she must have placed in me to be so vulnerable with me. Suddenly, I knew my touch should be soft and reverent; I wanted it to show her she was safe with me and that I deserved her trust.

I tentatively rounded my fingers. My hands slipped along the fabric of her bra without any resistance. I remembered Bella's words about my hands on a woman's body and how they should be sure if touching her was something I wanted. I pushed the uncertainty and hesitation out of my mind and focused only on the sensations, taking both breasts completely into my hands. A quiet gasp left Bella's lips, assuring me I'd used the right pressure with my touch.

The weight of her breasts in my hands was arousing, making it easy to understand the enjoyment of the diversion. I pressed my palms a little more firmly against each breast to see if I could feel her nipples, but the fabric was too thick. I heard a quiet hum of approval from Bella and chanced a peek at her. Her eyes were closed and her head was tipped back slightly. I assumed it was in pleasure, if the expectant expression on her face was any indication.

I experimented with pressure and hold, tightening my grip tiny bits at a time while working her flesh between my palm and fingers. I could hear her breathing change with each modification but I wasn't sure if it indicated pleasure or something else.

"Good?" I asked, hoping she'd reveal whether my touch was pleasurable. "I'm not pushing too far or too fast?"

"No-o-o," she answered. Her reply was breathy and drawn out.

I closed my eyes and let my thumbs trace the edge of her bra, skirting the lace. I was just short of trembling when she pressed her breasts against my hands, my mind racing ahead of my body when the warmth of her skin bathed my fingertips. Just like I wanted more each time she kissed me, I wanted more of her warmth, too. That was how libido worked I supposed - innocent caresses that subtly became sensual, a building of want intensified by the repression of one's desires. In any case, I was glad that the process was innate to me.

Bella's body language suggested she was enjoying what I was doing, and I began to wonder what the next step would be if this were a natural situation. Was this a case like kissing, where I should wait for my partner to indicate what she'd like, or should I take it upon myself to move forward? I wanted to tread carefully tonight, so I decided to come right out and ask.

"If I wanted our current activity to progress, how would I go about determining if my partner was agreeable?"

"By not asking if progressing your activity was agreeable," she noted with a giggle. "You need to loosen up, Edward. Let yourself get into what you're doing. When you do, your next move will be obvious."

"Nothing is ever obvious to me."

"What do you think your next move should be?"

"I wasn't sure if I should wait for you to take your bra off or do it myself?"

"You can move ahead without taking any clothing off by simply slipping a finger underneath the fabric," she suggested. "Your move doesn't have to be drastic to make progress. Just be logical and think in baby steps, unless you're in a big rush, that is. I don't want to leave you with the impression that there has to be boob touching every time you get with a girl, but it's a nice appetizer to the main course, if you get my drift."

I didn't draw the same parallels as Bella did between my own enjoyment and that of my partner. "Isn't it simply a means to an end?"

"Sometimes feeling a girl up is the end. I'm sorry to keep going back to the baseball idioms, but you're not going to score a home run every time you're up to bat. Yes, you're a good looking guy, and yes, you're going to find the occasional slut or party girl that is willing to fuck you, no questions asked, but more often than not you're going to need to do a little bit of leg work to get into a girl's pants. My point about boobs is that if you learn to enjoy them, then the journey won't seem like a chore."

"I wasn't looking at like a chore, more of a step in the whole process, but I see your point." I realized I was still palming her breasts, so I dropped my hands feeling flustered all over again. "Sorry."

"Job hazard," she joked.

"Are you feeling better?" She'd given no indication that our activities were too much for her to handle, but I knew the timing of it was poor. I needed a verbal confirmation to prevent myself from feeling guilty for taking her up on what she offered.

"Yeah, I am. I owe you _huge_ for saving me tonight, not just from Mike but from myself, too. Thank you." She dropped her eyes away from my face as she spoke. I didn't want her to spend even a moment of time feeling bad about what Mike had done. I brought my hand to her cheek and cupped it so she'd look at me, and stroked her cheekbone with my thumb when she did.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad I was there, in both cases. I've truly missed you the last couple of weeks." I would have given almost anything to punch Mike again for the tears I saw in Bella's eyes. _Dickhead_.

We floundered a little trying to redress, tangling arms and knocking heads. We always seemed to move in the same direction, like we were sharing a brain or something. I was busy sneaking one last peek at Bella's chest when she grabbed my t-shirt.

"Can I borrow it to protect me from the Mike nightmares?"

I nodded, pulling my sweater over my head. "Sure, but I hope you're not insulted if I don't borrow your tank top. Pink really isn't my color."

She was still giggling when she closed the door behind me.

* * *

**A/N**: WhiteKnightWard dashed in on his silver Volvo steed (Thank you for that one, HockeyChick10) and he has apparently refused to leave. Do we like this Edward? Still swooning?

Did Bella drag her feet too much? Did her reasoning make sense? Did she go far enough with her apology? Do you like that Bella isn't hiding her feelings any longer? Do you think Edward is picking up on the differences?

There seems to be a change in both of them. Is it enough to get them past their past difficulties? How does their future look?

Leave me a review and let me know what you think.


	13. You're Going To Think I'm Nuts

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not re-post the story without authorization.

Thank you to my betas **Scorp112** and **LightStarDusting**, and to everyone reading and reviewing. I appreciate the support.

I've written for a couple of one-shot contests in the past month. My story, _**The Green Jacket**_, won the Judges' Choice award in the _**Let The Games Begin Contest**_. My latest story, _**Through My Eyes**_, was written for the _**Curvaceous And Bodacious Bombshell Fic Contest**_. Voting begins soon. The links are on my profile if you're interested.

* * *

**Chapter 13: You're Going To Think I'm Nuts**

**BPOV**

My eyes drifted open contentedly after a wonderful night's sleep in Edward's t-shirt and nothing else. It was the last bit of goodness I could coax from him before he left last night. The fact that he'd even been at my house was kind of mind-boggling. Given that I'd avoided him for two weeks and owed him an apology, I certainly never expected to see him.

He was full of surprises yesterday: showing up at the dance, rescuing me from Mike, even coming back to check on me after he dropped me off. When he stood in my foyer and said he missed me, I fell to pieces. Sure, having Mike paw me was a precursor to my tears, but it was Edward's sincerity and vulnerability that did me in. Not only did he tell me that he cared about me, he _showed_ me by being there for me, at a time when I really needed someone to lean on. I'm not even sure how he managed it, but he took my crying in stride, holding me until I calmed down, and then some.

In the midst of being held by Edward, it struck me that I was in love with him. Believing that I'd just somehow _know_ when I was in love had always been such an obscure idea to me, but that's exactly how it happened. There was no one thing that made me sure of it; rather, a combination of so many. It was the mixture of joy and comfort I felt in his arms with the excitement of our connection and the stirrings of want. It was the understanding that I needed more than holding hands or kissing and knowing that I was ready for it. It was everything inside me and between us – nothing more, nothing less.

I also realized that despite his introversion and standoffishness, Edward wanted to be just like every other kid his age. He chose to see his curiosity about regular teenage experiences from a scientific standpoint, rather than as a desire to take part. Of course, that didn't guarantee that he'd do the right thing, but it did mean that he wasn't doing the wrong thing because he didn't care about how other people felt. He understood emotion better than he thought he did. It was boundaries that he needed to work on, and I could help him with that by being honest when he crossed a line. It was a way to show him that I cared about _him_, not about his mistakes.

With Edward's arms wrapped around me, I felt safe in a way that I hadn't experienced since I was a child. The difference between then and now was the ever-present lust that seemed to color my every thought. It was impossible not to be affected by the closeness of our bodies. The fact that he'd initiated it by pulling me into his lap made all the difference for me. Since he offered the comfort, I didn't feel like I was taking advantage of the situation. Perhaps I was pushing it by asking for more, but I preferred to see it as capitalizing on a rare opportunity.

If not for Izzy's unrelenting suggestions, I might never have been able to speak up about the contact I craved. My inner dominatrix wanted Edward in jeans and nothing else. She wanted to straddle him wearing thigh-high leather boots and tease his bare chest with a riding crop. Even though I couldn't imagine donning her getup or teasing Edward with BDSM garb, I understood what drove her. She embraced what she desired wholeheartedly, and she didn't let anything get in the way of obtaining it. As strange as it was, I was beginning to grasp that she was an unadulterated expression of the most erotic part of me.

Izzy had nothing to hide, and she made no apologies. I wanted to feel the freedom she reveled in. Before last night, every time Edward had touched me it was essentially a game of hide-and-seek, where I worked to keep my reaction to him a secret. I was only fooling him because he didn't want to see it; bless his little, self-absorbed heart. Now that I wasn't concerned with concealing my feelings from him, I could enjoy our connection; even use my energy to nurture it. That's where Izzy came in. By channeling her bravado, I didn't feel guilty about asking for what I wanted, and I could give of myself with the same discretion. A little bit of Izzy's humor didn't hurt either. Nothing diffused tension like laughing. So I borrowed the best parts of Izzy to get what I needed, and the payoff was some skin-to-skin affection and the unexpected stealing of second base.

**~8~**

Alice picked me up around eleven o'clock for our shopping trip and immediately started in on my disappearance from the dance.

"I have two words for you – Edward Cullen. Now dish!"

Nothing worked Alice into a tizzy like gossiping, although I suspected she was genuinely curious about what had happened to me. No one was supposed to know about Edward and me, and I hadn't thought about what to say if anyone asked about us. I decided to be honest but give as little information as possible.

"Mike had another can't-keep-his-hands-to-himself problem. Edward happened to walk by after Mike grabbed me, and he stepped in to help. When he saw how upset I was, he offered to take me home, so I let him."

"Did Mike hurt you?" she asked, her lighthearted enthusiasm replaced with concern.

"No, he didn't have the chance thanks to Edward."

"What an ass! It's a good thing Edward was there. Although it is kind of strange, don't you think? I'm fairly certain Edward has never gone to a dance before last night. I wonder why he went." Alice shot me a curious sideways glance, inviting me to comment.

"Maybe he was trying something new?" I hoped my invitation was the reason for his appearance, but I had no proof since he didn't approach me. It did seem more than coincidental though.

"Did you dance with him?" This was one of those times where it felt like Alice had extrasensory perception. She always seemed to know the right questions to ask – the exact ones I wanted to avoid in this case.

"No."

"Did you want to?" Yep, definitely an ESP moment for Alice.

"I didn't even know he was there until he helped me with Mike." Deflection seemed like a better tactic than lying, but Alice wasn't biting.

"Do you like him?"

_That's the understatement of the century._

"It doesn't matter. He doesn't really date." My second attempt at deflection fell just as flat as my first.

"But you do like him? At least give me that. Do you really think I haven't noticed how starry-eyed you get when you say hi to him?"

"I do not," I defended, hoping she wasn't right.

"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it, but we both know you're lying through your teeth."

I'd given Edward my word about keeping our experiment between us, but did that mean I couldn't talk to my best friend about him at all? "I haven't quite figured everything out yet…" I admitted. "But there's definitely something there for me."

"Girl, we are going to find you the perfect look-what-you're-missing-out-on outfit today. Edward isn't going to know what hit him." Little did she know that he wasn't missing out on anything.

**~8~**

I stared at my reflection trying to decide if Alice was being honest or secretly trying to make fun of me. It's not that I thought I looked bad, but it seemed a bit over the top for me. And by over the top, I meant tiny, conspicuous and slutty.

"Ugh! I don't know about this, Alice." I yelled so she'd hear me in the living room.

"Just come down and show me again."

"Fine, but you have to be truthful," I said, as I made my way downstairs. "None of this _you look cute_ bullshit. I want brutal honesty."

Alice was doing her best not to smile, and I was instantly self-conscious.

"I thought you said it looked good," I whined.

"It does," she whispered, looking over my shoulder. "Don't you think she looks good, Edward?"

I spun around just in time to see him blush and look down.

Alice winked and smiled at me. "I'll see you later, Bella… Edward." She nodded in his direction as she passed him and closed the door behind her, leaving me standing in front of Edward in the tiniest bikini I'd ever worn.

_Do not squirm. He's going to see the goods eventually._

"Sorry," I began, realizing it wasn't exactly true. I was only sorry that I caught him off guard. I didn't really care that I was wearing so little in front of him. Edward's stunned expression triggered my nervous babbling instinct. "What I mean is, if I'd known you were down here, I would have been more…dressed. Alice and I were shopping, and I was second-guessing my purchase."

"You bought a bathing suit in February?" he asked incredulously.

"Planning ahead for spring break, in case my dad changes his mind and lets me go," I explained, walking into the living room to sit down.

_God, I hope my ass looks good._

"Why buy a bathing suit you might not need?" His voice held a curious disbelief that was both childlike and ridiculously cute.

"All the good ones are gone by the time spring break rolls around." Cringing at the idea as it surfaced, I silently begged Izzy to lend me her bravado yet again. I spun around to face Edward, forcing a confident smile to my face. "Do you think it looks okay?"

"Won't you feel exposed wearing that?" His face was contorted in disapproval.

"That's kind of the point," I said, working hard to ignore the trace of antipathy in his tone. I needed to show him it was okay to look – that it was a good thing to appreciate my body. "If you want to meet someone, you've got to get them to notice you."

_Notice me, damn it!_

"But what sort of person are you trying to meet wearing so little?"

I paused before answering him, purposely making my answer light and comical. "I don't know… someone kind, thoughtful, with a healthy dose of tall, dark, and handsome."

_Someone just like you, doofus._

"I rather think you'd be attracting just the opposite wearing that."

His comment was so matter-of-fact that it was impossible not to take personally. I turned my back to him and walked over to the window so he couldn't see my face. For once, my inability to remain unemotional was to my advantage. The window reflected the room back at me, including Edward staring intently at my ass.

"So if you saw me at the beach, you wouldn't find me attractive in this bikini?" I asked, smirking. I followed his eyes as they inspected me.

"That's not what I meant." His voice was aggravated and clipped, contradictory to what I expected from guy who was ogling a girl in a two-piece. I wished I knew what he was thinking. Guessing was confusing me.

"I know, but I'm trying to get a male's opinion." I wanted this man's evaluation in particular.

I turned around to face him, working the angle to my body's advantage.

"You look fine," he mumbled, his eyes falling to my feet.

"Fine as in _perfectly adequate_ or fine as in _amazing_?" I pushed.

"Do you really need me to tell you how you look?" He was visibly angry now. I'd taken things too far and decided to quickly back off before the afternoon went down in flames.

"A girl always likes to hear when she looks pretty," I offered. "But if you don't want to give me your opinion, that's your prerogative." Feeling slightly self-conscious, I walked past him and mumbled, "I'll just go change."

**EPOV**

As Bella passed me, I grabbed her wrist and spun her toward me.

"Why do you always play these games?"

My question was rhetorical, and I didn't wait for her answer, pressing my lips to hers with urgency. I didn't understand my compulsion to kiss her – not where it came from or why I acted on it. She hadn't asked for a kiss or given any outward sign that she wanted one. All she'd done was ask if I thought she looked good in her bathing suit. It wasn't an impossible question, nor did it demand any kind of physical response. Why did it feel like a challenge?

I found bare skin no matter where I put my hands, and it was doing nothing to help me control myself. Finally, I grabbed the ties of her bikini bottoms and gripped them in my fists to hold her to me. We stayed like that for several minutes – my hurried, impetuous lips taking whatever Bella offered. The familiar anger bubbled up inside me once she pulled away.

"It would have been slightly easier, though not quite as much fun, to simply tell me you liked the bikini."

"That's not why I kissed you," I insisted, realizing that it wasn't entirely an honest answer.

"It's not?" she asked, looking sincerely surprised.

"Isn't that the sort of response you were looking for in regard to what you're wearing?" It was logical that if she wore the bathing suit to attract the attention of willing males, then she was expecting some kind of physical response to her body. At least it was logical to me. I wasn't positive if that was what compelled me to kiss her, but I wasn't ready to rule it out.

"No," she said softly. "I just wanted to hear that you thought I looked good. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I was expecting something beyond that."

I stepped back from her, sinking down onto the couch. Even if the situation had been some kind of test, I'd obviously failed it.

Bella climbed onto the couch beside me and stayed sitting on her knees, looking worriedly at me. "Can you tell me what you were thinking?"

"I was trying to understand why a woman would want to show that much of her body and thinking that I'd be uncomfortable showing that much skin."

"That makes sense. The boardshorts that guys wear are so long they're past the knee sometimes. I guess I'm more used to wearing less. Bikinis seem to get smaller and smaller each season." After a moment of hesitation, she asked, "Do you know what you were feeling?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Frustration? I guess I felt pressured to give you some kind of a response."

"I'm sure you weren't expecting to find me in a bikini when you knocked on the door, so I can see why you might feel put on the spot. I didn't know you were down here or that you were coming over," she reminded me quietly.

"Which is why my behavior makes no sense," I concluded, angry with myself for complicating something that should have been very simple. She looked pretty in her red bikini. It shouldn't have been so difficult for me to tell her. Why did I find it so hard to verbalize that thought when kissing was clearly a more intense response?

"Maybe it's my fault," she joked. "I've been pushing you to stop thinking so much and trust your instincts."

"Clearly, my instinct here was wrong."

"Edward, relax. Don't be so hard on yourself. The situation surprised you. Why not chalk your reaction up to excess, and leave it at that?"

"I don't want you to think I can't control myself around you," I mumbled.

She put her hands on my cheeks and pulled my face toward hers. Her hands felt so soft on my skin. "Enough, okay? I don't think that. _Mike_ has issues with his control, not you. One unexpected kiss isn't going to change my opinion about you."

"I like the way your hands feel on my cheeks," I noted distractedly.

She smiled and bent in to kiss me, her tongue inviting me to kiss her back. Her affection gifted me so much warmth, it was impossible to hold onto my negativity.

"Now we're even in the unexpected kiss department," she explained when she pulled back, laughing to lighten the mood. "We've got to stop feeling like we're doing the wrong thing all the time. We've agreed to this, so that's reason enough to justify everything we do."

I gave her a small smile of appreciation. "While your reasoning may sometimes be a mystery to me, I'm grateful for your understanding and compassion," I confessed, casting my eyes downward because I felt a little self-conscious.

"Would you like to do something today?" she asked hopefully.

"I came over to ask you to lunch, but I don't really feel like going out any longer."

"Oh," she muttered, working hard to smooth out the disappointment on her face.

"If you'd like to try out your bathing suit, maybe we could go for a swim?" I suggested, hoping I hadn't ruined the afternoon.

"I don't think the pool at the community center is open for public swimming on Saturdays."

"I meant at my house. We have a small lap pool," I told her.

"You have a pool? Like, indoors?" Her genuine surprise caught me off guard. I thought she knew. Everyone else seemed to.

"It's in the yard, but it has an enclosure so it can be used year-round," I explained.

"Let me grab my stuff." She smiled enthusiastically and headed upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. "How do you not swim every day? I'd never get out of the thing." She spoke loudly so I would be able to hear her from the second floor.

Matching her volume, I smiled to myself and answered, "I'm in it every day. I didn't know you liked to swim."

"I love the water. It calls to me."

It was another thing about her that I hadn't anticipated. I was beginning to wonder if I knew anything about Bella at all. For someone who considered himself relatively observant, I was feeling very obtuse.

"You don't have to bring a towel." I yelled. "We have lots."

I don't know why the idea of Bella using our towels appealed to me, but it did.

**~8~**

"I wouldn't exactly call this small," Bella said with a snort. "It echos-os-os."

"It's the glass. You can go ahead and jump in. I'll just go get my bathing suit on."

I showed her where to change and put her things. When I got back, she was swimming under water across the pool, her long, brown hair trailing behind her, spread out in beautiful, dallying waves. I was happy to see the reappearance of the red bikini. After what happened, I didn't want her to feel self-conscious about wearing it in front of me. I watched her as she spun her body playfully and came to the surface for air. Back down she went, her tiny feet peeking out of the water before she submerged her entire body and followed along the pool floor. Her love of the water was easy to see. It brought her to life even more, if that were some how possible.

I made a shallow dive and started in on my laps. It took a little more focus than usual on my part to keep my stroke even and measured. I'd never realized that I paced myself on the noise of my hands breaking the water's surface, until I had trouble hearing the sound over Bella's splashing and giggling. I began the flip turn on my tenth lap, blindly letting my arm pull me into the beginning of my somersault. Once my feet were in position, I used the wall to propel my body forward, and as I rotated from my back to my front, I collided with Bella with considerable force.

"Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" I quickly grabbed her by the shoulders only to realize that what I thought was coughing was actually her laughing.

"I'm fine," she assured me, splashing water at my face. "I got in your way on purpose."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"I think you forgot you were in the middle of a play date," she teased. "Who does laps when there are so many other fun things to do in a pool?"

"I guess _I_ do," I said, laughing with her. "It's what I always do."

"Well, today you're going to do something different." Her tone and manner were so determined that I didn't dare challenge her.

"Okay. What?"

"How about Marco Polo? You're it," she squealed. "And no peeking!"

Her lightheartedness was contagious, making her impossible to refuse. She definitely had an effect on me that no other girl - no other person - had. I followed the sound of her voice and played along, calling her twice for 'fish out of water.' She insisted the rule didn't apply in such a small pool and continued to evade me. Eventually, I gave up and went to sit on the steps until Bella promised to play fairly. Fat chance.

"Let's play another game then. How about tag?" she suggested, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet while she waited for me to answer.

"It's not safe to run on the pool deck. We'll slip."

"Okay. We'll swim the length of the pool, get out and run-walk back to the starting line. First one to complete three laps wins."

"Deal!"

I had Bella beat by an entire circuit and watched her swim her last pool length. She walked back to me with a pout on her face.

"You cheated. Your legs are like the size of my whole body. I should have had a head start or something."

"It's all in good fun when you can win, but everyone's a cheater when you can't," I teased.

"Best two out of three. We could see who can hold their breath the longest?"

I beat her by twenty-two seconds. She accused me of having gills. She was really pouting, now. Her mouth would have been almost adorable if it hadn't been so funny.

"Do you have a boogie board?" she asked.

I pointed to the deck box in the corner, and she retrieved it.

"Okay, this game determines the winner," Bella explained. "You have to throw the boogie board in and then try to jump on it. To win, you have to be able to stay standing."

"That's insane. The pool is barely four feet deep. It's too easy to fall and hit your head."

"Are you forfeiting?" she goaded.

"How is it forfeiting? I won every game but the one you cheated at."

"You cheated at every game you won," she said with a laugh. "And if you won't accept the challenge then I win by default. This is an all or nothing proposition."

"I'm going to soak in the hot tub. Have fun," I told her.

I watched as she tried her own challenge six or seven times, never managing to stay standing for more than a fraction of a second. On her last attempt, the board shot out from underneath her, and she flipped back but didn't come up. In a panic, I rushed in after her. She was floating face down by the time I got to her. I rolled her quickly but carefully on to her back.

"Bella, can you hear me?" I asked.

She smirked and opened her eyes.

"You're such an easy mark." She could barely talk through her giggling.

I dunked her under the water in retribution and went back to the hot tub. She came to sit with me after she coughed the water out of her lungs.

"You're lucky you were faking it. You would have owed me for saving you three times," I joked.

"You wouldn't play the boogie board game. I had to secure my victory somehow."

"But, Bella, you _are_ the winner. You're the biggest cheater of the day."

"Well, at least there's that," she said with a grin. She splashed me and laughed. After a few moments, she slid over and leaned against me. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

The shift in her mood was palpable, and the sudden disappearance of her lightness left me feeling apprehensive. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I was just thinking about what happened earlier."

"I'm really sorry for how I acted, Bella. I know you said to forget it, but I want to make it clear that I respect you. I never want to treat you in a way that hurts your feelings or makes you uncomfortable."

"I know," she said quietly, looking down. "I feel the same way about you, and that's why I wanted to talk to you about how we're doing things. What happened between us last night was sort of a function of Mike's shitty actions, and no offense, but I really don't want to have to go through that kind of grief to advance things between us." She laughed, trying to disguise her statement as a joke, but it really wasn't funny. There was no excuse for what Mike had done to her, and I certainly didn't want her to have to experience anything like that again.

"Did you have something in mind?" I was sure she must. She'd obviously been thinking about things.

"Sort of…" Her voice was hushed as a scarlet blush slowly crept along her cheeks. "You're going to think I'm nuts."

"I won't," I promised. "I think you've done a really tremendous job guiding us so far. I know I haven't said much about it, and I apologize for that. I'm not very good at communicating to begin with, and I get kind of caught up in my own thoughts. I'm trying very hard to understand each thing you tell me and apply it every time we're together. I wouldn't be able to do any of this without you."

"Sure you would," she encouraged. "You're a really great guy, Edward. I don't think I'm doing much besides helping you stay relaxed."

"You're wrong. You have the patience of a saint. Probably the kindness of one, too. Honestly, Bella, the courage and understanding you've shown is… well, it's beyond words. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you have our best interests at heart, and that's why I would never think you're nuts. Besides, considering this experiment was my suggestion, I think I pretty much have the market cornered on insane ideas."

She looked up at me and smiled, staring into my eyes with an expression I didn't recognize. There was a hint of happiness there, but something else I couldn't place. I smiled back at her. She looked away suddenly and closed her eyes. She kept them closed while she spoke, and a new round of blushing began.

"How often do you masturbate?"

"Umm…" I hesitated, not out of embarrassment but self-preservation. I didn't want to give her more information than what she was looking for. "Routinely."

"I like the way you put that." She giggled softly at my choice of words. After a moment, she smoothed out her expression and took a deep breath. All trace of humor was gone from her voice when she spoke again. "Up to now, I've used personal experience to guide us, but touching someone else is foreign territory for me. For that matter, so is having someone touch me. Since we both masturbate _routinely_, we each have a pretty good idea of what feels good. The problem is conveying it to one another. Don't get me wrong, I know we're capable of the whole _a-little-to-the-left, faster, harder, slower, softer_ thing. I'm just not sure it's the right approach for us. If we're fumbling around, it could lead to an awkward or uncomfortable situation. I really want this experience to be positive for both of us. I mean, that's the whole point of it, right?"

"You've certainly been able to keep the awkwardness to a minimum so far, although I think a certain amount is to be expected, given the circumstances. I imagine even a conventional couple must go through some degree of self-consciousness and incompetence as their physical relationship progresses."

"Their insecurities don't come in to play in the same way ours will," she insisted. "Sex is an expression of emotions for a couple, and the feelings they have for one another help to override the awkwardness. I'm talking about intention here."

Knowing this was a point of contention for her, I felt compelled to allay her worries. "I disagree. Diffidence is diffidence, at least in a new situation. And we aren't without intention. I would like to learn the process, and we'd both like to enjoy the physical pleasure. Isn't that enough?"

"I don't know. Couples have physical attraction going for them, as well as a desire to please their partner. Both things drive their arousal."

I hesitated for a moment, considering her viewpoint and trying to discern what her strongest misgiving might be. "Arousal is driven by many things – words, sight, physical touch – so I don't think it will be a problem for us. I'm not denying that love may play a _role_ in arousal, just that it plays the _only_ role. We simply have to capitalize on what works for us. As far as physical attraction and a desire to please a partner, I believe we possess those things."

"We do?" she asked, surprise etched on her features.

"Well, speaking for myself, I earnestly want you to feel good when I touch you. I think you deserve to find the fulfillment you're looking for, if for no other reason than the great personal sacrifice you've made by helping me. And as far as attraction-"

She raised her hand to stop me, shaking her head fiercely. "Don't say it, Edward. I was trying to make a point about the differences between our situation and that of a normal couple, not asking you to bullshit me."

I laughed at her assumption. She knew me better than to think I'd say something I didn't mean, let alone just to make someone feel better. "And I was simply pointing out that things aren't as bleak as you're making them out to be. You're a very pretty girl. It's not a difficult thing to understand how someone would be attracted to you."

"And if attraction were transferable, we'd be good to go. Since it isn't, the lack of it may hinder our attempts."

"So you think we'll fail?" I was beginning to wonder if her reservations with the challenges of the experiment had become so great that she was trying to find a way to pull the plug on the entire thing.

"More that we're setting the bar pretty high, which is why I don't think fumbling around is the best approach. I'd like to remove as many impediments as possible to help us achieve success."

"You sound like me now," I noted with a laugh, trying to hide my relief that I'd been wrong about Bella's motivations.

"Uh-oh. You know I've been hanging around with you too long if I'm beginning to think like you." I rather liked the idea of us thinking along the same lines. It would make things between us easier.

"So how do you suggest we proceed?"

"This is the crazy part, the one I warned you about before." She squirmed uncomfortably beside me, taking so long to speak that I was beginning to think she'd changed her mind about telling me. "I thought that we should take turns watching the other person… masturbate."

My mouth fell open in shock as I stared at her. I thought I was prepared for crazy, but her suggestion was not was I was expecting, at all. It was a giant leap forward, one I hadn't considered taking all at once.

"But we haven't even seen each other naked…" I blurted. "We…"

"I thought by doing it this way, we'd be pouring out all of our insecurities into one big, gooey blob and getting them over with." She looked up at me suddenly, meeting my gaze with fierce determination. "I don't think we should touch each other. I'm talking spectator sport here. You've seen me in a bikini. Naked is not that big a step away, in theory, but in actuality, it's a _huge_ step. It brings up all kinds of anxiety – are my boobs big enough? Does my ass look okay? Am I sexy enough? Can I turn a guy on? Anyway, you get the picture. If we do it all at once, it will be like ripping a bandage off – one giant pain followed by relief."

I knew she was looking at me, but I couldn't meet her eyes. A flood of thoughts deluged my brain, among them the fact that she was rambling and that it was probably in my best interest not to point it out. I opened my mouth to dispute what she'd said three or four different times, but each time I closed it. Regardless of how enormous her idea was, she was right.

"Okay."

"Okay?" she repeated incredulously. Wide-eyed and shocked, she stared at me, waiting for me to change my mind, I supposed.

"I'll do it. I'll even go first if you like." I turned toward her and smiled, to prove I was serious.

"You will?" She must have expected me to say no. I had no other explanation for the confused look on her face.

"This is exactly what you said. We don't want one of us to have to endure trauma to advance things between us. Seeing each other nude or even semi-nude is a big step, no matter how slowly we work up to it. There is bound to be some anxiety and self-consciousness. Better we get it over with than ignore the elephant in the room. That way it won't impede us."

"Are you sure?" She was giving me a chance to reconsider; at least I think that's what she was doing. She had the strangest expression on her face.

"Quite sure. I need to take a shower anyway. Since that's where I normally do it, I'll leave the curtain open so you can watch me."

"You make it sound simple." Her voice was so quiet that I had to wonder what she was thinking. For once, we agreed about something, yet my answer seemed to confound her more than anything else.

"It's not simple, but it doesn't have to be complicated. And it's the next step, so it's kind of like I'm taking one for the team." I grinned at her, hoping she'd appreciate my baseball idiom.

"Sports humor? Seriously? Now _you_ sound like _me_, and that definitely means we're spending too much time together," she teased, her bewildered expression finally giving way to a smile.

"You shouldn't always have to be the one to go first." She blushed and looked away from me, embarrassed by my sentiment. But it was true. She'd done so much. This was the least I could do.

I reached back to get a towel and offered it to Bella, then grabbed a second one for me. There was no time like the present to get this over with. I was already hard from the masturbation discussion. The idea of touching myself while Bella watched turned me on even more. I wasn't sure why, only that it seemed even more exciting. I wrapped the towel around my hips much lower than I normally would have, hoping to conceal the evidence of my arousal – not that she didn't expect it or wouldn't see it with her own eyes in a couple of minutes. I'm sure it was as plain to her as hers was to me. The water we sat in was one hundred and two degrees. Her nipples weren't erect because she was cold. No, we were both appropriately aroused, and I suppose in some strange way, it made what we were about to do easier to accept.

At least it did for me.

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**A/N**: A chapter's got to end somewhere, doesn't it? Should I prepare to be pelted by tomatoes?

Do you think Bella went too far in initiating Intro to Boobs 101 , if I can borrow the phrase from _**Mugglemom08**_ . (You don't mind, do ya hun?) Was it manipulating a situation or capitalizing on an opportunity? Was she right to allude to her feelings for Edward to Alice? And on the topic of Alice, nice move on getting Bella to come down in her bikini... or was it? Was it fair to Edward? To Bella?

Was Edward's reaction to the bikini expected by you guys?

Anyone suddenly want to play Marco Polo? I do. Marco...

And now we move onto the hot tub conversation. "How often do you masturbate?" is currently my favourite Bella question ever. Edward's answer was... (fill in the blank in your review :D) I think it was awesome - honest and witty without really meaning to be. Did his willingness to take the big jump forward surprise you? What do you think will happen in the next chapter?

I would love to hear your thoughts. Click that review button and share them with me! Until next time.


	14. I'll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me. Please do not repost the story without authorization.

Thank you to my betas **LightStarDusting** and **Scorp112** and to everyone reading and reviewing. I appreciate the support.

Without further adieu, may I present 6400 plus words of smut, haha.

* * *

**Chapter 14: I'll Show You Mine If You Show Me Yours **

**BPOV**

Be careful what you wish for. Isn't that what they say? My long held fantasy of watching Edward Cullen touch himself was about to become a reality. To be honest, I was still in shock that he'd so easily agreed to it. I'm sure he had no idea what he started when I saw him swipe his hand across his bare chest so many months before. Such an innocent gesture that had nothing to do with where my mind took it, where my mind continued to take it day after day, each time a little further than the last.

As we made our way upstairs, I focused on walking carefully so I didn't fall and screw up what was about to happen. Despite my temerity in bringing up the subject, I was suitably terrified. I'd never seen an _actual_ cock before, let alone a hard one. Besides a brief flash in the occasional movie, all I had to go on were the diagrams from health class, and the Gray's Anatomy textbook left a lot to the imagination.

Trailing silently behind Edward, I followed him down a long hallway and upstairs to the second floor. I tried to force myself to take in the surroundings—the shininess of the hardwood floors and the ornate patterns in the traditional runner rug that cushioned each step my bare feet took—but they seemed unimportant and inconsequential. I had tunnel vision. Everything around me was blurred and muted. He was the only thing I saw—the only thing I _wanted_ to see.

It wasn't until we went into his room that I remembered I'd been there before, that I'd used the exact shower that Edward was about to step into, the night I'd been drugged by Mike. I'd stood naked where he was about to stand and touched some of the things that he was about to touch—the _very_ place he was about to have an orgasm in. It sent a shiver of pleasure through me to realize this.

Edward grasped the shower curtain and bunched it completely to one side. It would block the first foot of the shower, enough to catch some of the spray from the showerhead, but not enough to give him any privacy or obstruct my view of him. He bent forward and turned the faucet on, testing the warmth of the water with one hand while the other adjusted the temperature. I was painfully aware that I was staring. Gawking, even. I couldn't stop myself. I silently justified my behavior by convincing myself that it was my job to watch him, but the truth was I was ogling him.

"Are you sure this is okay with you?" My question and tone were a little too perfunctory, given the strange energy in the room. We were only supposed to proceed with something like this if we were both comfortable and prepared, and I had doubts that he was.

"Are you having second thoughts?" he asked, dodging my direct question. When he didn't bother to turn around, I was instantly apprehensive. The way he was acting gave me the answer to my query.

"We agreed at the beginning that we should only do something if we're comfortable. I'm not sure you are." I felt like a bit of a hypocrite challenging him. This was my idea, and he'd volunteered to go first. It was certainly the more difficult of the two positions to be in, and here I was putting him on the spot. He had every right to be nervous—to put the kibosh on doing it if he'd changed his mind—even if I didn't want him to.

"Are _you_ sure?" he countered, straightening up but keeping his back to me. His attempt at nonchalance was almost convincing, but I could see the tremor in his hand.

"I'm nervous. It's a big step," I answered honestly. Admitting the truth out loud made what we were about to attempt feel monumentally huge, like we might be biting off more than we could chew. "But I want to try." I got the words out before my voice cracked, swallowing my fear with each syllable. Then I reluctantly stated the obvious, adding, "If you can't even look at me, that's probably not a good sign."

He turned to face me. His eyes were clear, his expression, ambiguous. "I was trying to keep the mood light, rather than dwell on my nerves. It's not a function of my willingness to try, I assure you. Simply the newness of the situation. I have no qualms about you seeing me without my clothing on or difficulties with body image to speak of. There is, perhaps, a small amount of anxiety regarding how you'll feel about seeing me touch myself. When I worked things out in my mind, I'd assumed that nudity wouldn't occur until coitus, at which point we'd both be adequately camouflaged by the bed linens and the darkness of the room, but that's neither here nor there. Come to think of it, doing it this way is probably easier in the long run so that I can see the parts of your body as I'm learning where to touch you. I'm content to proceed, if you're comfortable?"

_Say what_? It took everything in me not to giggle when he used the word _coitus_. Who says that? I'm all for using correct terminology, but before now, Edward had always used the term _sex_. Why was he suddenly being so technical? At least he didn't call it copulation or fornication. If he'd chosen one of those buzzwords, I wouldn't have been able to hold it together. Not that laughing couldn't have helped diffuse the tension in the room, but it could have just as easily made Edward more self-conscious and blown up in my face.

Truthfully, I hadn't given much thought to the fact that he would see my body. My thoughts were all about _him_ and what _I_ would be seeing. My brain was stuck on whether or not Edward belonged to the turtleneck club and on the size of his junk. Universe willing, watching him would get me so worked up that I wouldn't care what he saw when it was my turn.

Touching myself in front of him was my chance to explore how I could affect Edward, to witness firsthand a woman's power to make a man lose control of his own body. Any naked woman would probably do the job for him, but if it was my body that aroused him, then it was my power to hold over him. I knew it was a tiny bit pathetic and potentially perverted to need this, but I wanted it regardless. Just to make me feel less innocuous. To prove to myself that the guy who was so unaffected by everything and everyone was not impervious to me.

"I'm actually kind of intrigued by the idea of… um… watching you." I blushed, knowing I was probably admitting too much, and if Edward were paying attention, he might have caught the feelings behind my interest. But he never gave much thought to what was going on inside my head. This was all scientific exploration to him, and I was only his lab partner.

He smiled at me, or tried to. It came out more like a simper, a rather unexpected expression to see on the face of a guy who was always _so serious_. From anyone else, it was understandable—a reasonable reaction to the vulnerability of the situation, but Edward was always so methodical. So often he didn't seem capable of vulnerability. Plus, he said he was comfortable being naked in front of me, and he wasn't one to placate. Despite all the practice I'd had learning to think like Edward, I didn't understand what was behind his expression. Apparently, something about nudity made Edward Cullen feel silly.

He unwrapped the towel from around his hips and threw it onto the floor. I stared at it like I was confused. Maybe I was. I really wasn't sure how I was feeling.

I shifted backward a little, realizing I was probably crowding Edward to some extent. I had a tendency to subconsciously move closer to him. Or maybe he drew me in, an idea that I greatly preferred since it meant I wasn't solely to blame for the fact that I always seemed to be leaning toward him. I rested my ass against the dark wood vanity, needing it for support.

"You can sit on the counter, if you'd be more comfortable." After his offer, he glanced over his shoulder at me and then stepped into the tub.

I pictured myself losing my balance mid-gawk, my ass falling into the sink while my head smacked back against the mirror and shattered it into a million shards of scalp-cutting fun. "Standing's fine," I assured him circumspectly.

"Suit yourself," he said, tucking his chin into his chest and moving into the stream of water. It washed over the top of his head, darkening and flattening his beautiful, bronze hair. He reached out to the faucet and adjusted the temperature one more time. Within moments, steam began to hover in the air around him, the vapor surrounding us like a protective haze. We really were in our own little world now.

I could see his shoulders relax as the warmth of the water worked its magic. Just like that, he pulled the tie at his waist and eased his boardshorts down his hips a small amount, enough to reach in and free his hard-on. About three things I was absolutely positive: he had no turtleneck, I had grossly underestimated the size of his junk, and Edward Cullen's cock was as beautiful as he was.

I watched, mouth agape, as his hand ran up and down his shaft a few times. My eyes flickered to his in curiosity, wondering what he was looking at, but I found them closed. I pouted, irritated. It felt like a wall between us, even though, in reality, it was probably just his way of focusing.

Edward turned his face up toward the water, squeezing his eyes tightly shut against the spray that spattered his skin. He blindly reached for the shampoo, giving the pump three quick smacks with his palm once he found it. He rubbed the liquid between his palms and then threaded his fingers into his hair, making suds as he massaged tiny circles on his scalp. My eyes shot between his cock and his hands, making sure I didn't miss a thing. The familiar scent of his shampoo permeated the air, and I put the subtleties of it to memory, knowing from now on I would work to discern it from the delicious scent that was all him.

He twisted his torso and stepped through the stream of the shower, tipping his head back so the water rinsed his hair. My eyes traced the path of the liquid that tricked down his body, over his shoulder and across his hip. He turned again, his soapy hands moving slowly away from his hair; one wrapped gently around the base of his cock, the other braced his body against the tile.

My heart was beating harder than I thought possible, my eyes greedily darting everywhere. The sight of him in front of me was so much more sensual and erotic than I had imagined. And believe me, I had imagined it extensively, since the first time I'd seen him shirtless more than two years ago. The student body of Forks High had been bused to Port Angeles to participate in a countywide fitness initiative. It was my good luck that he'd been put on a skins team. When I caught sight of him, my mouth fell open—half in shock, half in lust—and stayed that way. My eyes had been glued to his chest as I pondered when and how his body had developed without my notice. I thought he couldn't get any more perfect than he had been that afternoon, but I'd been wrong. His chest had broadened and lengthened. His muscles, once little more than outlines that were almost obscured by his skin, were now defined and practically bulging beneath the pale membrane, peppered with coppery brown hairs that lead my eyes lower than they had ever been able to go.

Suddenly, Edward's hand came away from the wall and shoved at his bathing suit, forcing it further down his thighs. He wiggled his hips a little, and the water took care of the rest. Once his suit had fallen, he simply stepped out of it and flicked it out of his way with one toe. His feet spread and flattened against the tub floor, his toes tensing against the smooth surface as he replanted his hand on the shower wall. My gaze gravitated upward, and I gasped quietly. One look at his spectacular ass was enough to make me beg to touch him. I pulled my lips between my teeth to keep myself from blurting something inappropriate and grasped the countertop even tighter. White knuckles were better than saying something that might potentially put an end to Edward's comfort or enterprise. I wanted to see the _whole_ show. Hell, I wanted an encore, too.

Everything about him was overwhelming. I was almost dizzy from trying to take it all in. When I'd imagined the planes of his body or the grace of his movements in my dreams, my mind hadn't done him justice. There were no words adequate enough to describe his beauty, especially now that I could see his entire body working as a whole. The way the muscles in his forearm flexed and relaxed as his hand worked to bring him pleasure. The way his shoulders tensed until his spine curled inward and his ass tightened. The way his knees bent and his thighs contracted to support the position of his body. The light hold of his fingers. The indentation in his calves. He was utter perfection, and I was mesmerized.

Once I took notice of the emotion building on Edward's face, it held my eyes hostage. I was so curious what the cause of it was. If only there were a way to know what he was thinking about. I wasn't sure if he was even aware of my presence any longer. Watching him was so surreal that it was easy to imagine how he might have slipped into his own little world, pushing everything away so he could feel safe and unguarded. I would know what it felt like to be on his end soon enough.

A quiet grunt from Edward stole my attention and hit me right between the thighs. I'd never had the audacity to imagine what sort of noises he'd make while he touched himself, but I had no doubt they would have paled in comparison to the real thing. His eyes were clamped shut, but his mouth had fallen open, his breath coming in huffy pants. It was all I could do to stay rooted in place, barely controlling the desire to join him in the tub and be a part of his pleasure.

Except for his hand, his body was absolutely still. His thumb rubbed the topside of his cock, while his four fingers curled around and squeezed the underside. His grip was tighter now. The faster his hand moved, the smaller the stroke became, until he was only rubbing the head. My whole body was tense. The unexpected urge to put my mouth on him was so bad that saliva pooled on my tongue.

Watching him made me feel more alive than I'd ever felt. It would have been easy to get swept away in the intimacy of the scene. Instead, I reminded myself what I knew. This was just a double-blind study to him, and he was a scientific tool—_the independent variable_. He was an objective researcher who was above any sort of experimental bias, entirely uninfluenced by my placebo effect. Like I said, a _tool_. So I kept my lips caged between my teeth to lock the words inside, in the safety of their internal validity. It didn't mean that I couldn't enjoy the sight before me. Just because the feelings only flowed in one direction didn't make the moment any less intense or amazing. What he was doing was sexy and definitely a turn-on. I ached to be a part of it, instead of only an observer.

The intensity in Edward's expression was breathtaking. I understood why his eyes were shut. Mine would have probably been, too. His fingers, once splayed against the tile, were fisted now. His breathing was erratic, more like a gush of forced air. Even I could tell how close he was.

His head dropped, and he rested it against the arm that braced him, in preparation for his release. My body seemed attuned to his. I felt the prickling of excitement in the pit of my stomach and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, drumming a backbeat that was double my regular heart rate. I had to remind myself to breathe.

He groaned softly and then swore. The word _fuck_ had never sounded so sexy or seemed more appropriate. I would have started to touch myself right then and there, if it wouldn't have interrupted Edward's concentration. My eyes stayed fixed on his moving hand in anticipation.

When I saw his back tense and straighten, my mind exploded with a hundred thoughts all at once: _It's time. He's going to come. He's coming. He's so sexy. So unbelievably sexy. I wish I were touching him. I wish his orgasm were because of me. That it was mine. That _he_ was mine. That I was his. I _was_ his. Always his. Forever his. Even if he never realized it. Pretty cock. Can a cock be pretty? Only Edward Cullen would have the prettiest penis in all the land. So hard. Hard and pretty. Look at his hand move. Oh, to be that hand. Those fingers. Those perfectly long fingers curled so delightfully around that pretty cock. That I want in my mouth. That's hot. So fucking hot. Look at his ass flex. Magnificent. Stunning. Poetry in motion. Is it hot in here? My throat is so dry. Oh my god. Holy fuck. Whoa. Meep. Guh._ My thoughts downgraded to gasps, whimpers and grunts when I saw the thick, white stream of cum shoot out of him. It was, hands down, the most erotic thing I'd ever witnessed. Desire was pulsing through me now.

When it was all over, he stayed in place, working to even out his breathing. His head remained down, his features obscured by the arm that braced him. I was thankful, really. Not being able to plainly see his face made the intensity of the situation easier to handle. Though every part of me was aching to touch him, even in his post-orgasmic bliss, I knew he deserved some space after what he'd done—to clean up, to collect his thoughts, to just _be_. I silently pushed myself away from the vanity and tiptoed out of the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. When he stepped out of the shower, I wanted him to have a modicum of privacy to towel off. That way he could come out of the bathroom when he was in the right mindset, rather than rushing through redressing because he felt like he was on display.

Thoroughly dazed and turned on, I flopped back on to Edward's bed. The soft, off-white duvet was refreshingly cool on my overheated skin, not to mention plush and luxurious. I felt at home surrounded by it. Knowing Edward slept there every night didn't hurt either. I pushed my body up the bed and sighed when my head found the pillows. His scent was layered on the pillowcases, and it only added to my already aroused state. I wasn't exactly lacking in inspiration with the vision of Edward's naked body fresh in my mind. My body was humming with reactions and emotions. I just answered the call, slipping my hand into my bikini bottoms and letting my middle finger connect with the slick spot between my legs that was begging for friction.

**~8~**

**EPOV**

Rapture took over, commandeering every bit of my focused energy and blasting it through my veins until my whole body was lost in bliss. There was nothing like the euphoria of an orgasm, at least I'd never experienced anything close to it. This one was particularly forceful, though understandably so. It wasn't every day that a pretty girl watched me touch myself, not unless you counted the faces that flitted through my mind while I was doing it. I certainly didn't. They weren't real people anyway, just some objectification of the attributes I found attractive in a female—angles and curves—rounded flesh and dewy skin, long legs and flowing hair, dark lashes and rosy cheeks.

When my breathing finally slowed down, I turned my head to look at Bella and was surprised to find the spot she'd been in was vacated. An echo of panic ran up my spine. Surely watching me hadn't been too much for her, had it? She would have spoken up, wouldn't she?

Going ahead with Bella's idea had been a spur of the moment decision. We had mistakenly not taken the time to discuss a specific _out_. Admittedly, I got caught up in the excitement too quickly to think beyond the act and consider the consequences to the experiment. We'd both seemed so willing.

She'd raised a valid point about advancement. The course thus far had been bumpy and not without retrogression. Our progress had been made in lurches and generally on the back of some kind of difficulty—certainly not how I'd intended it to proceed. In hindsight, I hadn't pulled my weight in terms of experimental design, choosing instead to let Bella's knowledge lead us. Now that we'd exhausted her experience, it was even more important to ensure that each step we took was well thought out, with all the details arranged. Since we'd overlooked the method this time around, I had to trust that Bella would have spoken up if something had made her uncomfortable. Still, without knowing for sure, it was difficult to shake off the doubt entirely. After quickly cleaning up, I stepped out of the tub intent on finding her. If this exercise had pushed her boundaries too far, I would let her defer her turn until she was ready. Cooperation was imperative for our partnership to work, and I was more determined than ever to see it through.

As I ran a towel through my hair, I debated where to look for Bella. She was wearing her bathing suit when we came up to my room, so perhaps she had returned to the pool to change. Maybe I'd find her waiting in the kitchen or the music room, two places she seemed comfortable. She was so headstrong, though. Something told me I'd find her sitting outside, on the hood of the Volvo, huddled into a ball inside her big brown coat to keep warm. Only she would choose to freeze in order to prove a point, stubborn, fatuous girl that she was.

I cursed under my breath when I realized that I'd forgotten to bring dry clothing into the bathroom with me. There was no way I was putting my cold, wet bathing suit back on, especially if I had to go outside to look for Bella. I wrapped the towel around my hips, venturing out of the bathroom to get something to wear when I was stopped dead in my tracks.

I'd been wrong. She hadn't wandered far, and by the look of things, she was not put off by what she'd seen me do in the shower. Quite the contrary, actually.

Bella lay sprawled on my bed, her dark hair fanned out over my pillows. Her long, pale legs were split—one knee bobbing gently in the air and the other flat against the mattress. Her right hand was hidden beneath her bikini bottoms, delicately moving up and down. I shouldn't have been shocked that she was holding up her end of the agreement, but I had no other explanation as to why I was holding my breath.

Everything about Bella held my eyes, and it went so far beyond the sensuality of her pose. The comforter that surrounded her served to warm the tone of her already creamy skin. The contrast of the scarlet fabric of her bathing suit against the linen was staggeringly bold—blood red in a sea of white sand—demanding my attention in an authoritative and almost violent way. She was, in a word, breathtaking.

How strange that I'd never imagined anyone in my bed like she was now. Well, not necessarily exactly like that but doing something similar… with me. Not that I had some perverse desire to explore mutual masturbation or that the desire was perverse. I'd just never thought about a girl in my bed, period. I'd imagined girls and beds with girls in them, but never any girl in _this_ bed.

I was struck by how becoming she looked there. The night I'd helped her with Mike I'd been too tired to notice how she looked when she slid between the sheets. I'd been too anxious to convince her to stop talking and go to sleep to pay much attention to anything. By the next morning, she'd abandoned the bed in lieu of sleeping curled up next to me on the floor, so I'd never gotten the chance to really see her there. Though I spent a lot of time in my room, it was almost exclusively at my desk, if I wasn't sleeping. Seeing her on the bed made me long to curl up under the covers and relax.

I scrutinized the movement of her hand, trying to judge its speed and pattern. Her knuckles weren't bending in unison, but aside from that, I couldn't ascertain the pressure she used or exactly which group of fingers she touched herself with. The lack of knowledge was irritating. My need to know was far more absorbing than curiosity. It was serious and just short of urgent.

I leaned into the doorframe, partly for support but mostly for the slight change in viewing angle that the new position afforded me. I could see Bella's face better from there and studied the way her brow furrowed, the slight parting of her lips, and the faint pink flush on her cheeks. Did she know I was there? Was she embarrassed or simply overheated? If only her eyes were open, then I might have been able to tell. Admittedly, I was kind of shitty at discerning the thoughts there, but I had no chance at all if they remained closed.

And I wanted to know.

Bella turned her face away as a quiet mewl left her lips. Without meaning to, I took a step forward, stopping myself when I thought better of it. Her left hand moved to her bikini bottoms, twisting the tie with purposeful guidance until the bow was undone. The suit fell away from her body and revealed the naked curve of her hip, the sight of which made me groan. I traced the red edges with my eyes and gaped as the fabric slipped and shifted against the repetitive stirring of her fingers. She was as good as fully exposed to my eyes now, and I felt drunk on the image.

One step became two, then three. My need for understanding was taking over, seizing and binding me like a vine. It was like my subconscious thought that closing the distance between us would somehow grant me answers. I wasn't even sure what the questions were. All I had to guide me were the hints of words on the tip of my tongue and an ache in the pit of my stomach like I'd been punched.

When I reached the corner of the bed opposite to where she lay, I dropped to my knees, quashing the urge to crawl closer to her. I refused to take my eyes off of her, unwilling to risk missing a single one of her actions. Each was a piece of the puzzle, and I'd never have a full appreciation of what was required if there were pieces missing.

I studied the gentle rise and fall of her chest with every shallow breath she took, the way her skin nearly shimmered in the pale glow of the filtered afternoon sun, the flex and stretch of her tiny toes as they mirrored the internal rush of sensation that she was swept away in. Every detail was monitored and catalogued by my greedy, ravenous eyes.

No longer hidden by her bathing suit, I surveyed the circular stroking motion of her middle finger as it slid along her sensitive flesh. Her touch was feather-light, her pace, slow and even. Her lids fluttered but didn't open, much like they would in REM sleep. I wondered what she was thinking of behind those tightly closed eyes. Did she have an image of a perfect man that made her heart race and her blood pulse? Did girls even think in gross anatomy and erogenous zones?

Her left hand stole up her body, its unexpected movement catching my attention. Tense fingers cupped her breast, squeezing and massaging until she moaned. The sound filled my ears and went right to my cock. Just like that, I was hard again. My body's reaction was expected in this circumstance, but it still took me by surprise. My release had been intense and fulfilling, not to mention recent. There was no logic in the way my body craved more of what it had just been given. I couldn't account for it. It had to be Bella.

It occurred to me that she might be showing me what she liked, subtly correcting the gentle way I'd touched her breasts last night. She was much rougher than I had been. My mouth fell open as I watched her fingertips coerce the stretchy fabric aside, revealing her delicate pink nipple to my scrutiny. I had as much appreciation for the female form as any seventeen year old, but seeing her there in front of me—in the flesh—had a profound effect on me. My memory was incapable of doing justice to what I saw. It was far too limited and two-dimensional to ever capture the sensuality of the weighted curve of her flesh or the contrast of the rosy peak against its pale background.

I was drawn to her in a way I'd never felt before. Not with anyone. I didn't understand why, only that I didn't want to fight it, not like I had when she'd first kissed me. This was too enticing to resist, too powerful to be ignored.

I inwardly cursed my agreement to keep this a hands-off exercise. If only I had known my response would be this strong. It felt unnatural to be so passive when my body was screaming at me to react. All the instincts and desires that I doubted the existence of were writhing and exploding inside me like a hundred distinct voices in my head. I had to tuck my hands safely behind my bent knees to combat the urge to reach out and touch her.

To further control my urges, I focused on dissecting each subtlety I could discern—every tiny change in response to her efforts. I monitored the path of her finger with my eyes, determining which places it pressed into her with more momentum, watching it dip and disappear inside her body, committing the circuit to memory. The understanding that she used her own wetness for lubrication made it hard for me to swallow. It was so uninhibited and made what was happening so much more real.

There was so much to take in, each thing more distracting than the last. Her left hand worked her nipple, rolling and tugging the hard, rounded tip while her pinkie finger bestowed gentle caresses to the underside of her breast. The antithesis of the two actions was wickedly duplicitous, yet perfectly correlated—tender and passionate, yielding yet forceful—the yin and yang of sexual fulfillment. The delicate balance between the two had never been more obvious to me.

I had _a lot_ to learn before I would be able make someone feel the pleasure she brought herself.

The movement of her fingers became quicker and more erratic. Small, rapid circles replaced the long, delicate strokes. There was no resistance; her delicate moisture coated everything. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Her hips began to move in time with her hand, tiny, quick thrusts against the friction. I wondered what it felt like for her, if it felt anything like it did for me. In gestation, our bodies began with the same undifferentiated cells but became so opposite in development. There was so much softness to her—lovely, leading curves to draw my eyes in and hold them to her—so much more beautiful than the male form. With a sudden certainty, I realized that Bella was the epitome of everything that appealed to me about the opposite sex.

The closer she got to her orgasm, the tenser her body became. I could see it in the way the muscles in her calves and thighs flexed, in the way her hips rose and her ass tightened. The series of actions was a finite loop. It was only matter of time before she found release.

The strange part was that she was absolutely quiet. Even her shallow breathing made very little sound. I'd grown accustomed to the little squeaks and sighs she made when we kissed, and I found myself wondering if she were holding her reactions in. During was my turn, I had tried to keep my response natural and not filter anything for the sake of modesty. Her muteness seemed spurious.

Her internal struggle was clear in her expression. It was odd to see her caught up in her own thoughts, since that was usually my problem. Despite the fact that this whole thing was her idea, I suspected that she felt self-conscious. It was understandable, though I felt no such thing when our roles were reversed. I was probably just more comfortable with my body or maybe more experienced with masturbation. The reading I'd done suggested that teenage boys started the practice much earlier than their female counterparts.

Part of me wanted to touch her to bring her back to her task. This was supposed to be about pleasure, not anxiety. I warred with myself over interrupting her. She'd helped me get over myself many times in the past. In a lot of ways I owed her the same consideration she'd shown me. I just didn't know whether reaching out or keeping my hands to myself was the answer.

I settled on what I thought was the right choice and tentatively stretched my hand out to touch her leg. Bella's response was something akin to a moan mixed with a gasp, a huge rush of air leaving her lungs as soon as my fingertips came into contact with her skin. It felt like the sound seeped into every pore of my skin, a rush of emotion and energy pulsing through me.

I withdrew my hand quickly, hoping that my actions hadn't offended her. Her leg followed my hand, as if an invisible string connected us. I stopped and gently laid my palm against her skin, testing. She sighed, and her face relaxed. In fact, her whole body seemed to uncoil under my touch. It wasn't what I expected, quite the opposite, actually. I thought my touch would jolt her out of her thoughts, not calm her. I couldn't account for her reaction, and it made me uncomfortable. Now that I'd given my help, it would be unfair to withdraw it. Perhaps I shouldn't have offered it in the first place.

In the back of my mind, I knew why I'd reached out—selfishness. I didn't like suppressing my instincts and wanted to somehow circumvent the rule that we'd agreed upon. But it was _too intimate_. I had no right to interfere. Having my hand wrapped around her calf put me in the middle of her sexual pleasure, a place I had business being when I had no idea how to arouse or please her in such a way.

Even more, the fact that I wanted to share in her enjoyment was significant in and of itself. That wasn't what the exercise was designed for. It was supposed to be purely informational. By reaching out to her, I was acknowledging that what I was feeling was beyond simple desire. Watching pornography didn't make me want to touch the porn star, but watching Bella touch herself made me want to touch her. Not just touch her but also play a part in her pleasure indirectly, if not directly. The desire would have been insignificant if I had controlled it, but I hadn't. And that scared the shit out of me. That's not what the experiment was about. It's not what Bella and I were about.

But it was about what I felt for her.

Her softly whispered words pulled me out of my preoccupation, just a moment before she went over the edge. I watched in shocked silence as she writhed and tensed, coaxing her body through several cycles of orgasmic pleasure with slippery, moving fingers. Her reaction was so much more internal than I had expected it to be—than I'd wanted it to be.

I pulled away, turning my back to her and sitting down on the floor, utterly bewildered. Dissatisfaction twisted in my stomach, and discomfort clouded my mind. It was not how I thought I'd feel after watching her, not one single part of it. Not the attraction or urges or instincts or emotions, but one thing was certain. I no longer needed the experiment to test whether she made me feel something. The feelings existed—real and unbidden, and I couldn't deny it any longer.

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**A/N**: Just a couple of things…

The one-shot I wrote for the _**Curvaceous And Bodacious Bombshell Fic Contest—**_called _**Through My Eyes—**_made it to the second round of voting. The winners will be announced on Friday, May 6th. I've never competed in a contest with SO MANY wonderful entries, 33 in all. Go have a read.

The lovely **Adarnell **started a thread over at the Twilighted forums for this story. Thank you for the support. It means the world to me that you thought enough of EEoEC to do so. The link is on my profile if you want to check it out. I'll be posting teasers, answering questions and discussing the story over there.

So… this chapter, haha. Too much smut? Enjoyable?

Did Bella react the way you expected she would while watching Edward? What about while Edward was watching her? Did you expect her quietness?

Did Edward's reactions to watching Bella fit with your visions? Were you surprised about his revelation? Did he cross the line when he closed in on her personal space? How about when he touched her leg?

Now that it's done how do you think they are both going to act?

Leave me a review and let me know!


	15. Woody Johnson & Isabella Chickenshit

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

Thank you to my betas **Scorp112** & **LightStarDusting** for their help. I edited a chunk after they gave it back to me, so all mistakes are mine.

_::For anyone who has been waiting or wondering, I apologize for the extreme delay. Sometimes RL doesn't cooperate.::_

* * *

**Chapter 15: Woody Johnson Protects Isabella Chickenshit**

**BPOV**

As the saying goes, all good things must _come_ to an end. Yeah, pun intended, and what an end it was. I wasn't even embarrassed that I whispered Edward's name in the middle of a string of curse words as my orgasm hit me. His touch was the little push I needed to take the plunge.

We'd made a deal: he would masturbate while I watched, and then I'd do it while he watched, so I knew he'd be nearby. After all, Edward Cullen was the king of the personal space invasion—too close for comfort wasn't close enough for him. In this case, that was to my advantage. By reaching out to me, he showed me that he was okay with what was happening, and I felt relieved. I'd buried my worries that watching me might affect him negatively; otherwise I wouldn't have been able to go through with it.

The worst part of the experience was letting go of the connection between us once I was finished. While it was happening, he was as into it as I was, and what we were to one another—the labels—didn't matter. I didn't want to let go of that bond, regardless of what it resulted from.

Of course, now he was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, curled into a ball with his knees drawn tightly into to his chest. As disconcerting as it was to see him that way, I knew withdrawing was his way of dealing with whatever was going on in his head; that was just how Edward worked. He'd share his thoughts with me if and when he was ready to and probably only if it had some bearing on the remainder of the experiment. I was taking small victories where I could get them. We'd accomplished the goal for the afternoon, Edward had been into it, and I'd gotten the biggest thrill of my seventeen-year-old life.

I quickly covered up, adjusting my bathing suit top and retying the bottoms, and tiptoed over to him. "I'm just going to go change," I said softly.

He suddenly sprang to his feet and dashed into the bathroom without a word. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for his comfort level. I pushed my doubt away, deciding to stick with my plan to let him figure things out on his own, and went back to the pool to change.

Edward still had not come down by the time I'd finished dressing. My heart was screaming at me to go find him, but my instincts knew better. This wasn't something I could help him understand until he was willing to open up to me, and forcing him to face me before he was ready was just asking for trouble. I had to respect his choice and assume he preferred his space. I decided to give him even more space, so I grabbed my coat and went outside to soak up some rare Forks sunshine.

I sat on the trunk of the Volvo for thirty minutes before Edward came out.

He stopped when he saw me, looking at me for a moment before he approached. "After you first left the bathroom, I thought you'd run away. This was one of the places I thought I might find you."

"Sitting on your car?" I asked curiously. The image of him having his way with me on the hood flashed in my mind. _Like that was ever going to happen._

"Yes, but on the hood." I smirked, barely containing the giggle that his reference to my latest fantasy summoned. His face puckered in confusion. "I thought watching me might have been too much for you and figured you would have been more comfortable out here, if you were reluctant to fulfill your part of the agreement. The car was about as far away from me as you could get, since I drove you here... We both know how stubborn you can be."

"It wasn't too much for me," I assured him quietly, doing my best to ignore his dig. "But we don't have to talk about it yet. I'm not going to push you. Obviously we need to discuss it at some point, so we can figure out where to go from here, but it can wait until you're ready."

His green eyes hardened and fell away from mine. "I wasn't expecting the experience to be so powerful."

Despite the vastness of his statement, I recognized the hidden promise in it, hoping it was a positive-powerful and not an overwhelming I-don't-know-what-the-fuck-we-were-thinking kind of feeling. I swallowed roughly, choking on my desire to ask him to explain further and refocused on being honest since it was the only thing I could offer.

"It was powerful for me, too—both watching and being watched. In a good way, I mean… at least, it was for me. Hopefully your experience was similar." I sounded like such a dork. _Hopefully your experience was similar._ I may as well have asked him if his body had been adequately lubricated or if he was pleased with his performance.

"This wasn't a step I'd given any thought to so I didn't have any preconceived notions about how the experience might affect my level of arousal or enjoyment. I was surprised by the instincts that surfaced, though. I anticipated having to be taught appropriate responses, but that wasn't the case at all."

Of course he wasn't going to tell me which instincts he was referring to. That would be too easy and potentially bring me satisfaction. He wouldn't want to do that when he could torture me with a vague response and leave me to drown in my own curiosity. All I had to do was ask him to be more specific, but I couldn't, not without the very real possibility of pushing him too far. There were times I wanted to—and did—push, moments where I'm sure he needed me to do just that, but this wasn't one of them. What we'd done was big enough, in and of itself.

Or maybe I was just a huge coward. Isabella Chickenshit. _Bock bock_.

This was as much about him figuring things out on his own as it was keeping everything positive and moving forward. The exchange of information had to be voluntary for that to happen. I was playing with fire if I tried to force him to open up to me.

"Instincts are good," I deadpanned.

"What did you think?"

His simple question afforded me with so many opportunities to put my foot in my mouth. There was a fine line between being true to what I felt and giving Edward more honesty than he could deal with. If he knew every thought in my head, he'd be running for the hills, screaming.

"The truth?"

"Why would I want you to lie?" he asked incredulously.

Jack Nicholson's voice from _A Few Good Men_ echoed in my head. _Because you can't handle the truth._ Though, in all fairness, I wasn't handling it that well either. At least not well enough to say out loud and own it. There was no time like the present to take that step.

"I really enjoyed watching you. You are…" The words I wanted to say cycled through my mind. _Gorgeous… drool-worthy... incredibly good-looking_. I mentally rolled my eyes at myself. Admitting I was _that_ attracted to him was probably _too much_ honesty. Not that what I'd decided to confess was any less honest or revealing, maybe just more situationally apropos. "I wanted to touch you today. I have since the first time I saw you shirtless. Your body is… beautiful." He didn't need to know it was more than two years ago, of how many times I'd fantasized, or how far I'd played that fantasy out in my mind.

"So your instincts surfaced too, then?" he asked, ignoring the most intimate part of my admission. "The innate reactions and inclinations to respond accordingly were there for you, as well?"

"Yes." I smiled at his wonder, happy, for once, that his inner scientist had surfaced. I'd come to expect his emotional obtuseness. It was almost a relief that he didn't acknowledge the rest of my statement, except now it felt like he was daring me to one-up the honesty. Just how much would it take to shock him into a response?

"I'm not sure why I keep underestimating my instincts. By definition, they're inherent, yet I continue to be surprised when they emerge. I suppose it's due to the fact that they're virtually nonexistent when it comes to social situations. This is, after all, just a deeper social interaction. It just goes to show that instinctual behaviors are variable and environmentally influenced. Their complexity obviously has both instinctive and learned components."

It was one thing to anticipate that he would pull away from the experience we'd shared, but it was totally another to witness it firsthand. Each invalidation and rationalization intentionally distanced him from his emotions and me. He wasn't really even talking to me; he was thinking out loud. I inserted myself into the conversation to remind him I was still there.

"You don't say…"

"Freudian psychoanalysts believe instincts are really just motivational forces rooted in a basic need to maximize pleasure and minimize physical pain. Only our unsatisfied needs influence our behavior, not the satisfied ones. It explains why I've never bothered with friends. I simply haven't had the need."

I bit my bottom lip while I thought about what he was proclaiming. We'd studied Abraham Maslow's paper _A Theory of Human Motivation_ in my AP psychology class. Edward's theory was inherently flawed, and as much as I knew I should keep my mouth shut, it wasn't very often that I knew something better than he did. "Maslow suggested his-"

"You know Maslow?" he asked with an insulting mix of surprise and skepticism in his tone, as if interrupting me wasn't insulting enough.

"As I was saying, Maslow's hierarchical theory suggests that you have to satisfy all of your lower level needs to progress to the next level. You've already progressed to the esteem level, past the social level-"

"Exactly, my social needs are met." His smugness wasn't helping. It only worsened my desire to prove him wrong.

"No, it means you're ignoring them. Isn't that what this experiment is about? Meeting your social needs and finding that sense of belonging and intimacy that you can't find on your own."

"That's preposterous." He rolled his eyes and shook his head, refusing to consider my statement.

I knew I should drop the subject. He was dangerously close to shutting down because of what I was saying. But that was the problem with not avoiding the truth. Sometimes honesty cuts brutally and painfully deep. "Is it? Many psychologists believe that a significant portion of human behavior is based on unconscious motives."

I could see shock move across his features as my words registered and felt the remaining few threads of the connection from our afternoon disintegrate.

"I should probably drive you home now. I've got someone coming over for some tutoring in a little while, and I need some time to prepare." The subject change didn't surprise me, but his excuse did. I had no idea if he was being truthful.

"Oh, okay." Despite the fact that everything I'd said was honest, I didn't want to leave things between us unsettled. "Are you sure you don't have more time? I thought we could catch a movie or something."

"I can't do it today. Maybe some other time."

Without another word, he dug his keys out of his pocket and got in the car. He was silent during the drive, even when I tried to lighten the tense atmosphere with a few jokes. He gave me a tight smile once we were in my driveway, letting his eyes dart between my face and the door. It was clear he wanted me to get out so he could go.

"Can I ask you something?" I tried to keep my tone casual; although I wasn't sure I accomplished it. He nodded stiffly instead of speaking, remaining in his withdrawn state. "Why did you go to the dance last night?"

Staring straight ahead, he took a minute to think before he answered. "I wanted to see what it was like… why it was important to you."

"Why did that matter to you?"

He shrugged, conveying his lack of desire to discuss the dance or anything, for that matter. I was starting to feel panicked, like I'd screwed up everything earlier by pointing out what seemed so obvious to me. If that was the case, I was going after the answers I needed for closure.

"So it was just curiosity that made you go? That made you do something that you said _wasn't your thing_?"

"Dancing isn't my thing, and I didn't dance," he clarified.

"Well that explains why I never saw you on the dance floor, but why not come say hello and let me know you're there?"

"I'm better at observing, and I didn't want you to expect me to dance with you. Besides, you seemed pretty busy with Jasper Whitlock anyway."

It was irritating that he was blaming me instead of taking responsibility for his actions, but I refused to take the bait. Refuting his accusations would only cause a fight, and it certainly wouldn't get him to be honest about why he didn't approach me at the dance.

"If you didn't want to dance with me, it shouldn't have mattered who I danced-"

"It didn't matter to me," he assured me, finally looking at me. The intensity of his gaze was almost disconcerting. He obviously wanted me to believe him, but whether or not he was telling the truth remained to be seen.

"Then why bring it up?"

He turned away from me and sighed loudly. "I really need to get home."

"Of course you do," I replied sarcastically. I opened the door and slid out the seat, still feeling uneasy about the strange vibe between us and hating that I didn't know if he was being truthful about having something to do. Once I was out, I turned back to him. "I realized something today."

"What's that?" he asked, glancing over at me with a cautious expression.

"When you suggested this experiment, you said that you thought fulfilling sex was based on technique, not love, and I couldn't really see your point. It was impossible to imagine wanting to have such an intimate connection to someone that I didn't have feelings for. But in the midst of what we did today, the labels of our relationship didn't matter to me. We were both into it… enjoying ourselves, I mean. I can understand now how someone could be fulfilled by good sex, even without love. I still think love is important, but maybe it's not a requirement."

He nodded slightly, his impassive expression not revealing anything. God, what I wouldn't have given to get into his mind to hear what was going on in there.

I gave him a small smile and stepped back from the car. He drove away without a word.

**EPOV**

Once I'd dropped Bella off, the solitude of my car was familiar and consoling. I drove home slowly to take advantage of the quiet, needing it like never before. My brain was a jumbled mess of information; just questions and answers that related in foreign and unwelcome ways.

If I'd known that watching her touch herself was going to affect me on so many levels, I probably never would have gone through with it. Yes, I would have missed her sensual display, a sight so utterly overwhelming and sexy that it brought me to my knees, but I would also still be sitting contentedly in my ignorance instead of trying to forget all of things I'd realized.

My problem began when I'd understood my desire to touch her. What I thought was a wish to help her get over her self-consciousness was more about my selfish inclination to be a part of her pleasure. It went against the informational nature of the experiment and forced me to acknowledge that I did, indeed, have real feelings for Bella. The insight left me scared, overwhelmed, and confused, and I had no idea how to process it. As soon as her orgasm finished, I turned my back on her and retreated into myself.

The afternoon only got worse from there.

It felt like I'd been hit by a truck. The moment of impact was bizarrely surreal. Reality crashed my thoughts and two independent lines of thinking were irrevocably twisted and mangled into an indivisible wreckage.

In laymen's terms, I was fucked.

The experiment and the desire to understand what I felt had coexisted on two separate and distinct planes in my mind. My feelings for Bella irrevocably muddied the separation, if not entirely demolishing the boundaries between the two. At best, they would be an ever-present distraction, at worst, a force that could permanently skew the direction and results of our experiment.

It was beyond my realm of capabilities, a disaster of epic proportions.

Where I once wanted to be certain whether I had feelings for Bella, I no longer wanted to know at all. I wanted to forget that I'd ever wanted to know, forget what I now knew to be true. I wasn't sure that I didn't need to forget the experiment all together at that point.

In no way, shape, or form was I ready to deal with Bella, so I did what any red-blooded teenage guy would do: I hid. I was in a full-blown panic by the time I made it into the bathroom. My internal freak-out aside, the erect penis I was sporting was exceptionally inconvenient; like a neon sign advertising the chaos in my body. Or maybe a white flag; the terrycloth towel wrapped around my waist certainly looked like one. Not that I was trying to signal a truce or surrender. If anything, I was in full-on retreat mode. In any case, the towel was reprehensibly inadequate in its ability to conceal the evidence of my arousal; arousal, I might add, that had no reason to be present in the midst of a panic.

Nothing made sense to me, not what I was thinking or feeling and especially not how my body was reacting. This wasn't me. I was calm and indifferent. I was withdrawn and distant. I was not prone to roller coaster emotions or feeling out of control. If this was what an emotional bond felt like, I wanted no part of it.

I didn't even like the sound of being bound to someone, regardless of the reason. The mere idea made my stomach churn. What good was a connection that left you feeling discomposed and distracted? Or even worse, vulnerable and helpless? The hearts and flowers nonsense that was spouted by romance novels and naïve girls couldn't have been more opposite to the way I felt. In fact, I was calling bullshit. There was nothing even potentially pleasant about knowing I had feelings for Bella.

Not the gripping fear.

Not the urge to vomit.

Not the tightness in my chest.

The way I felt was detestable. It was depression-inducing. _I did not want to feel like this._

And why in the hell did I still have a god damn erection? I groaned and smacked the back of my head against the door in frustration. Even my body was betraying what I wanted.

I closed my eyes and willed away all of the things I was feeling. I pretended I had a protective force field around me that prevented everything from getting to me, like Susan Storm from the Fantastic Four, except I was a guy, of course. Truthfully I was more Reed Richards—brilliant scientist and gifted engineer—than Susan Storm, if you ignored his whole Stretch Armstrong capability. I was not pliable in any way and certainly not able to contort my body into any shape I wished, as convenient as that power might be. We did have the tendency to focus on a challenge and forsake other things in our lives in common. His superhero wife understood his limitations. Of course, if my wife looked like Jessica Alba, I don't think I would have been thinking about electrical engineering or aerospace technology. She wasn't nearly as appealing to me since she'd gone blonde. I liked her brown hair better, but I did prefer brunettes in general. Bella was evidence of that.

Grumbling in protest, I let my body slide down to the floor as soon as I realized what I'd done. All thoughts led back to Bella, even with my invisible force field and my desire to forget that I had feelings for her.

I was doomed.

I was also afflicted with a never-ending erection; even feeling as foolish as I did didn't diminish it. However, priapism was no laughing matter. My curiosity had gotten the better of me after I'd heard the warnings during a commercial for the infamous blue pill. No guy should have to read about having his penis injected with drugs or aspirated with a needle. For that matter, the words _penis_ and _needle_ should never be used in the same sentence, as far as I was concerned. I didn't even read about the shunting procedure. Quite honestly, at that point I'd rather just die from it. It would be so humiliating that no one would ever want to have sex with me again, and my self-esteem would be so negatively affected that I'd live out the rest of my life as a monk anyway.

Maybe I had more in common with The Thing than Reed Richards. Of course, he was orange and rocky from head to toe. I only had that problem in one particular area, and my dick was most certainly not orange. I opened the towel and peeked at it, just in case. No, it wasn't orange. It was rather purple, if I was being honest. I guess the term _blue balls_ was a misnomer. The condition should be renamed Byzantium balls, although technically I was talking about my penis, not my testicles.

Maybe this was my contribution to the superhero world: a perpetual hard-on. I failed to see what kind of super powers it would give me; certainly no offensive capabilities, and I didn't really want to think about defending myself with my cock, even if it was as hard as granite. It might be useless as a means of reproduction, pleasure or even urination, but it was still a source of male pride. I didn't want to risk having it injured, or worse, removed.

What would they call me? Captain Stiffy? Bonerman? Woody Johnson?

I rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of my thoughts. This erection wasn't permanent, and I was going to whack off to prove it.

I jumped into the shower and quickly adjusted the water. Wasting no time, I grabbed the soap and lathered up my hands. I ran one over my shaft a few times. It was ultrasensitive and nearing painful. I proceeded slowly with a gentle touch but even after several minutes, there was no build-up happening, barely a hint of pleasure amidst my caution. Of course, that made me feel even more self-conscious and anxious.

Touching myself wasn't nearly as exciting as it had been when Bella was watching, which was ludicrous. It's not as if I could ask her to come over every time I wanted to masturbate. She'd be here so often that I'd have to ask her to move in. I was a healthy seventeen-year-old whose sexual experience began and ended with my hand. Requiring a third party just wasn't going to cut it.

I closed my eyes to focus on the sensation, and the minute I did, Bella's face popped into my mind. I did my best to erase it from my thoughts by purposely thinking about other women I was attracted to, but they always somehow morphed back into Bella. It was frustrating and irritating until I realized that her image was helping to build some momentum in conjunction with the movement of my hand. With sudden clarity, I realized it was tied to what I'd just witnessed. Watching Bella masturbate a few feet away from me had been the hottest thing I'd ever seen. It made perfect sense that my mind wandered back to her; she was the cause of my hard-on to begin with.

It was simple after that. Once I understood why she kept appearing in my thoughts, it was easy to stop fighting and go with it. I welcomed the images of her pillowy lips, tense fingers, and thrusting hips. Though the clarity of the images was already fading, it was more than enough to speed my body's response. I remembered the sound of the words she muttered as she came, incoherent to my ears, but that was to my advantage. I made them louder and more demanding as my orgasm approached. In my head, she was begging for me, and my hand just approximated the movement I saw. Within moments I exploded with a low, raspy grunt.

It was simple biology, really. I saw a pretty girl touch herself and recalling the experience lead to an orgasm. I was relieved in more ways than one. Not only was my erection gone, I was able to maintain my masturbatory self-sufficiency. Now I just had to figure out what to say to Bella.

After dressing, I went to find her and did a double take when I saw her sitting on the trunk of the Volvo. The image was oddly comforting, at least in the sense that I knew her well enough to predict her behavior. It made me feel more confident, even if I still had no idea what to say about the afternoon.

Our conversation was a little awkward. I wasn't expecting her accusation that I was using the experiment to satisfy my social requirements. The potentiality in her statement felt too intimate. I wasn't willing to admit anything until I had more time to process the events of the afternoon. Hearing her say that she felt some of the same urges I'd felt made me wonder about the idea of situational emotions again. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions about my feelings for her, although deep down I knew I was more likely looking for a way to invalidate the truth.

I was thankful for Emmett's early morning request for calculus tutoring. It provided me with an excuse to end the afternoon politely. Plus, it gave me time to think because I could do calculus in my sleep.

**~8~**

"Yo, dude, are you even in there?"

I looked up at Emmett who was staring at me and chuckling.

"Are you done that derivative example?" I asked, ignoring his question.

"Like five minutes ago," he retorted, laughing again. I had no idea that calculus was so comical. "I've tried everything I could think of short of farting on you to get your attention. I snapped my fingers in front of your face, called your name. Hell, I even sang some Lady Gaga. What's got you so deep in thought?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, it's not nothing. There are only two things that a guy our age thinks _that_ hard about: failing a test and sex. So who is she?"

"What makes you think this has to do with a girl?" For a moment I wondered if he could help me sort out my confusion. With experience on his side, he likely knew a whole lot more than I did about women in general.

"I just assumed it was a chick. I'm down with it, if you bat for the other team." There was no judgment in his tone, even if his statement couldn't be further from the truth.

"I think my hands are full enough with girls, one in particular, thanks."

"Did you and your girl have a fight? Did she cheat on you? Go out with your best friend?" Clearly he had no idea who I was referring to. Bella wouldn't do anything of those things.

"Nothing like that."

"Is she pregnant?"

"God, no!"

"Does she like the ladies?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, obviously amused by his suggestion.

"Emmett, get your mind out of the gutter. First of all, she's not _my_ anything, nor has she done anything. It's just…" I didn't know how to finish my sentence. There weren't words that would adequately explain that I was an emotionally retarded almost-adult engaged in a sexual experiment with a girl that I'd recently determined I had feelings for, without sounding like I was completely insane.

He took another guess. "You don't know how to tell her you like her?"

"I'm not sure how I feel," I lied. There were too many details that I wasn't ready to share to simply agree with his inquiry.

"What's the problem? Wait, is she ugly?"

"No, she's quite pretty, but I..." I was beginning to feel exposed, like I'd already said way too much.

"It sounds to me like you've got it bad. Have you kissed her? Have you fuck-"

"God, Emmett, will you shut up? Not only is that none of your business, bragging to people about your sex life makes you a douchebag. We both know I'm no douchebag; that's Mike's department."

"Mike Newton?" he asked.

"The one and only," I mumbled, realizing that I could kill two birds with one stone. I'd been planning to ask for Emmett's help anyway. Doing so would get him off my back at the same time. "He's actually part of the problem."

"Him and your girl?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes, but not the way you're thinking. He tried to force himself on her twice." I watched as Emmett's expression morphed from shock to anger. "A few months ago he drugged her, and then last night at the dance he cornered her and put his hands on her. She's too afraid to press charges, so I really want to teach that son of a bitch that it's not okay to manhandle a woman. I'd be willing to trade a few hours of tutoring for your help."

"I've got your back, bro, no trade required. I happen to love a good fight." He nodded at me, wearing a smug smile. "Besides, you might get your ass kicked if you go after him on your own, no offense, and I couldn't let that happen to a friend. I am curious, though. Do I know her?"

"It shouldn't matter who she is," I replied, hoping the rightness in my words would be enough to convince him, adding, "She's worth it."

"If you say she is that's good enough for me."

Emmett told me that it was customary for a few local families—Emmett's and Mike's included—to have Sunday brunch at the Port Angeles Country Club and invited me to go with him. After brunch, the kids usually hung out at the tennis courts while the parents played golf. There were plenty of secluded areas between the clubhouse and courts where we could corner Mike. I questioned why we couldn't just approach him at school, but Emmett explained that even threatening someone on school property could get us suspended. Mike certainly wasn't worth a permanent mark on my school record.

When Emmett picked me up the next morning, I was anxious and edgy. I was not one for violence, even though Mike kind of had it coming. Since Bella didn't want to press charges, I couldn't come up with a better way to handle the situation, and something had to be done. I couldn't stand the idea of Mike hurting her again. If this was what it took to protect Bella, then so be it.

Emmett's parents were polite and pleasant. I purposely went out of my way to make conversation when they spoke to me so they wouldn't think I was a poor choice of friend for their son. Not that Emmett and I were close friends, but if his parents caught wind of what Emmett and I had planned, I would be the obvious person to blame. Then again, Emmett was a physical guy. His biceps were the same size as my thighs, and I was pretty sure they didn't get that way from playing video games or watching television. For all I knew he ran a secret fight club and had an alternate personality named Kellan Lutz. Ok, not really, but if Mike overpowered me, he was definitely strong enough to step in and squash Mike like a bug.

_I am Jack's smirking revenge.  
_

The _Fight Club_ references floated in and out of my mind for the next hour. I was beyond ready to deliver the retaliation Mike deserved.

It happened just like Emmett described. After a conventional meal filled with urbane conversation, his parents left to play eighteen holes while we escaped to the tennis courts. Emmett took it upon himself to corner Mike with no prompting from me at all. I think he planned to enjoy this one way or another.

"Hey, dickface. I heard you like to corner helpless girls." Despite the fact that Emmett's hulking form towered over him, Mike didn't seem put off by it.

"I wouldn't exactly call you helpless girl, Emmett," he replied, punching Emmett's shoulder playfully. Emmett stood stock-still, an immoveable mountain, glaring down at Mike. Once Mike realized Emmett was serious, he looked around and spotted me. "What the fuck are you doing here, Cullen? This is a members-only club."

"Sadly, they seem to admit even the lowest forms of life," I retorted. Leave it to Mike to poke the bear. I stepped up next to Emmett, and though I didn't look nearly as menacing as he did, I stood tall with my shoulders squared.

"Nobody wants you here, Eddie."

"I want him here," Emmett growled, scowling at Mike's smug expression. "Though I can't say the same for you."

Mike held his hands up in protest. "I don't know what Cullen's been saying, but he's full of shit. He's just jealous because I got into Bella's pants, and he can't."

"You're the one who's full of shit-" I began, ready to call him out on his outrageous claim and defend Bella's honor, but Emmett interrupted me.

"Wait a second!" Emmett's head turned toward me. "That stuff you told me about… he did that to _Bella_?" he asked. _Crap_. I nodded, and Emmett immediately advanced on Mike, throwing a right hook that connected solidly with Mike's jaw. The force of the blow made Mike stagger backwards. He kept his eyes locked on us as he straightened up, one hand rubbing the red mark left by Emmett's fist.

"You're really taking the word of this loser science-freak over mine?" he asked dubiously.

"He has no reason to lie to me," Emmett replied. "You know, it's bad enough that you did the shit you did. The fact that you did it to Bella makes me want to kick your ass on principle. She's a nice girl who would never hurt anyone. Of all the low-life, creepy-"

"You were fucking giddy when you took Rosalie's V-card. Don't try to convince me you wouldn't have worked overtime if she'd played hard to get with you."

"We both know Bella wasn't playing hard to get," I interjected.

"Shut up, Cullen. You've never even kissed a girl. Like you'd have any idea what a girl meant with all of her mixed signals."

"I'm not stupid enough to misunderstand the word _no_. That's about as unmixed as a signal can be."

"Spare me the semantics! She's hot as fuck and a virgin to boot. Any one of us would gladly pop her cherry, given the chance. I was just helping her get over her reluctance."

"It sounds like she was more than reluctant, Newton," Emmett decided.

"Bullshit. She's just like every other chick her age, playing head games with the short skirts and vague responses, except she likes to give no response at all. You know what they say about the quiet ones." Mike kept his eyes trained on me, baiting me on purpose.

"What do they say about the quiet ones, Mike? That they need to be drugged to sleep with you? That you need to pin their arms to their bodies and cover their mouths so you can publicly grope them?" My disgust for him twisted angrily in my chest.

"At least I know where her pussy is located. Do you even like girls?"

"You just couldn't stand that she wouldn't give you the time of day. You thought she'd drop to her knees like the other bimbos you've dated, and when she didn't, you couldn't handle it." I knew I'd hit the nail on the head when he scowled, but as quickly as his chagrin registered, it disappeared under a smug smirk.

"Well I haven't had the pleasure of a blowjob from her yet, but I'll be sure to let you know what you're missing out on once I do. I bet she has no gag reflex. She'll probably deep-throat my dick and swallow every last drop I give her."

Something inside me snapped, and, for a millisecond, everything in my field of vision went white. Call it a protective instinct, if you will. It told me that the only way to stop Mike from hurting Bella was physical force. He needed to learn that his abuse would not be tolerated in any way, whether it was the lies that threatened her reputation or his hands on her body. I intended to make it clear that she was completely off-limits to him.

I charged him, using my momentum to tackle him the ground. When he tried to push me off of him, I grabbed his wrists and wrenched them away from his body until he yelped in pain. The distraction gave me enough time to climb on top of him and pin his arms with the weight of my knees. I hit him time after time, my fists moving without my order. I only had a vague sense of what was going on around me, as if my body and brain were disconnected. Blood spattered as my knuckles burst open. Or it might have been Mike's lip, which was also split and bleeding. I had a distant sensation of pain but it was entirely overwritten by the sheer vindication of every punch. The crisp snap of my fist against his skin was almost soothing, proof that my message was being delivered. Mike was too stupid to believe the verbal threat I'd already given him. Physical violence was the only way to force him to take me seriously. It was the only way to ensure he'd leave Bella alone.

Somewhere behind me I heard Emmett laugh and then call my name.

"He's not fighting back."

His words registered in my ears, but their meaning did not.

"Stop, Edward."

_Did Mike stop when Bella said no? No, he didn't, and Bella wouldn't fight back. Mike had to pay for what he'd done._

"Edward!"

Eventually I felt Emmett's fingers gripping my elbows, coaxing me to stop. Mike was below me bloodied and battered, either passed out from the beating or unable to open his eyes because they'd swollen shut. He was almost unrecognizable.

And I didn't regret a bit of it.

Emmett offered me a hand and helped me up. Once I was standing, he clapped my shoulder and chuckled. "I didn't think you had it in you, bro."

"Punching Mike?" I asked. It was fairly common knowledge that I had punched Mike before. A connected guy like Emmett surely knew about our scuffle in December.

"No, dude, banging Bella Swan."

* * *

**A/N**: The quotes I used were from the movies _A Few Good Men_ and _Fight Club_, respectively.

I'd love to hear what you think about the questions Bella asked Edward. Do you think she pushed too hard? Should she have pushed harder? What would you have done in her shoes?

What about Edward? Do you know why he finally acted on his desire to get even with Mike? Were you surprised by how far he took it? Did you enjoy his mental blathering?

And isn't Emmett adorable?

Let me know what you think. Just click the review button and let it rip.


	16. The Twilight Zone

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

Thank you to my betas **Scorp112** & **LightStarDusting** for making it sparkly.

* * *

**Chapter 16: The Twilight Zone**

**EPOV**

Wanting to avoid responding to Emmett's allegations for as long as I could (hopefully forever), I used Mike's injuries to change the subject. I knew how badly my hand hurt, and since Mike's face was on the receiving end of my fist, it had to be worse for him. Plus, there was blood everywhere. Considering head injuries had a greater tendency to bleed than others, I knew it looked worse than it actually was and played up the scene to my advantage.

I had no remorse for what I'd done to Mike, but I did feel compelled to get him medical attention. We helped him into Emmett's parents' van and took him directly to Olympic Medical Center. Emmett brought Mike in by himself so the hospital staff wouldn't connect my hand to Mike's injuries and bring the police into the matter.

Emmett called his father next. His cover story was simple: we'd come across Mike fighting with a couple of guys who ran off when they saw us, and we'd brought Mike to the hospital to be checked over. Mr. McCarty volunteered to find Newton's parents and break the news. Emmett was quick to suggest that his parents stay with the Newtons for moral support, again to keep my hand out of his parents' sight. He added that there was no point in us speaking to the police since we didn't get a good look at the perpetrators and asked if we could head straight home, explaining that we both were shaken up by what had happened. I had to give him credit; he had every angle covered. His experience in covering his tracks must have been extensive. Either that or he knew how to play his parents like a piano.

The drive back to Forks was the longest of my life. Emmett wouldn't get off my back about Bella. I denied having any relationship with her, sexual or otherwise, but the way I'd handled the situation with Mike said more about my feelings for her than any denial could negate. He was surprisingly in favor of our nonexistent union, touting the praises of the geek and the hot chick—his words, not mine. It was surreal to hear someone support us, considering I was unsure what I wanted from the situation, let alone made peace with my feelings yet.

**~8~**

As I sat in the emergency room of Forks Community Hospital, waiting to have my hand looked at, it became abundantly clear to me that I hadn't entirely thought my actions through. It had never occurred to me that my hand might incur some damage if I hit Mike or what that damage would convey about what I'd done. I was neither prepared to field the questions that were sure to come, nor ready to share the reasons for my behavior. Yet my unwitting disregard for the consequences of my actions rendered me horrifyingly exposed the moment my fist connected to Mike's cheek. I felt sick about it.

Another side effect, one which was far worse than what I'd done to myself, was what I'd done to Bella. The damage I'd inflicted on Mike had the potential to betray her connection to him. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to figure out what he'd done to her. I owed it to her to do everything in my power to stop the details of his violations from surfacing. I just had to figure out how to accomplish that.

The biggest question was whether she and I could be connected, and the number of variables made it a complicated one. We'd been very discreet about our partnership, but that didn't necessarily mean no one had noticed the few times we'd spoken at school. Bella had only approached me once, the day after Christmas vacation, but I'd gone to her several times during my kissing lessons and again last week, the day she invited me to the dance. Though it was unlikely that anyone would have scrutinized our interactions, I had to be prepared to be wrong. I had to think from every angle if I was going to come up with a strategy to minimize the ripple effects of my choices.

Mike wasn't a worry. It was in his best interest to stay silent on the matter, considering the trouble he stood to get into if his assaults on Bella came to light. Ever the idiot, even _he_ wasn't stupid enough to out me in retribution. Emmett was another matter entirely. He'd given me his promise to keep Bella's name out of things, but whether he'd actually follow through remained to be seen. He had nothing to lose by gossiping about the reason behind the fight. His role was minimal, so any punishment he would receive would reflect that.

Of course, I had to consider the entire student body of Forks High, always willing to discuss things that were none of their business.

An observant person could easily surmise the relationship between my hand and Mike's face, and it stood to reason that at least one such person existed within the student body. It would only be natural for this person or persons to discuss their theory with friends, as well as speculate about the reason for the fight. I'd long ago grown accustomed to being gossip fodder, labeled a geek, freak, and a hundred other more defamatory monikers and gibes. It was a different story for Bella. She wasn't used to that level of cruelty. She didn't deserve people's pity or derision for being the victim of an asshole's crimes.

I knew from experience that I couldn't stop people from talking. Despite the lack of corroboration, a lot of people would be willing to believe the hearsay. When it came to gossip, the truth wasn't nearly as important as having something to talk about.

Maybe giving them something to talk about was the approach I needed to take. Carefully controlling the stream of information might give the vultures enough propaganda to discuss to prevent them from digging any further. Sacrificing my privacy seemed like a minor price to pay to save Bella's good name.

In my mind, it was settled. If the connection between Bella and me was discovered, rather than futilely deny it like I had with Emmett, I would confirm the existence of our friendship. Of course, I'd keep the details vague so the focus of any discussion stayed on us and away from Mike.

As soon as I was done at the hospital, I had to find Bella so I could tell her what I'd done and, more importantly, how I was going to get us out of the mess I'd made.

**~8~**

I knocked meekly on the door with my left hand, trying in vain to ball my right for the hundredth time since Dr. Gerandy had stitched and dressed it. I hated the way the thick wrapping felt, and the pain medicine I'd been given wasn't doing much except making me feel off-kilter. Ironically, the scars that resulted from hitting Mike in December were now fully encased in the new sutures, leaving no trace of the once red marks that marred my knuckles. If only erasing today were that easy.

An older man I assumed to be Bella's father answered the door. I introduced myself and asked to speak to her. After letting me in and offering me a seat in the living room, he disappeared and returned with a can of beer in his hand. I looked at him expectantly, knowing I had to tell Bella what had happened before she went to school tomorrow.

"Edward Cullen, you said? Carlisle's boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"I knew your mom; went to high school with her and your father. Haven't seen her in years. Then again, she's not around much, from what I hear."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The last thing I needed was an interrogation from a man that I had no respect for. "It's true that she's travels a lot with her job, if that's what you mean."

"And what job would that be?" he asked, eyeing me skeptically. Clearly he knew nothing of my mother.

"With the Seattle Symphony Orchestra; she's a pianist."

"She always did love her piano." He paused, waiting for me to reply, but I saw no need. "Still… she's a mother first. It's not right that she goes off the way she does, leaving you to fend for yourself. A boy without a father needs to be kept an eye on."

The unintended irony in his statement wasn't lost on me. As well-behaved children go, I was normally exemplary. The fact that I was currently standing in the police chief's living room with stitched up knuckles that were the result of a fist fight to defend his daughter played right into his argument. Still, it was impossible not to be irritated by his insinuations about my mother and me.

"With all due respect, sir. You don't really know my mother or me, and as such, can't really say what's right or wrong when it comes to us. I came here to speak to Bella, not discuss my mother's parental merits with a man who hasn't earned the right to insult the job she's doing."

"I believe that was a shot at me." The left side of his mouth turned up in an amused smirk. To me, his implications about my mother weren't the least bit funny.

"You can hardly expect me to take your criticisms of my mother's job seriously when living full-time with your daughter hasn't honed your parenting skills."

His eyes narrowed and the volume of his voice increased, showcasing his impatience with me. "Do you think I care what some pissant kid thinks about my parenting skills?"

"Clearly you don't," I agreed, unconcerned with his rancor. "Or you'd have done more to protect Bella after she was drugged in December. And before you accuse me of anything, I wasn't the one who drugged her. I'm the one who rescued her, took her to the hospital, and gave her a place to stay when she locked herself out of the house. If memory serves, her father was off fishing somewhere."

"Why you little…" The twist of his mouth was unfamiliar. I couldn't decide if he was angry or impressed that I'd stood up to him, but either way, my honest retelling of the events of that night had him a little ruffled.

"I'm not here to argue with you, Chief Swan. I just need to speak to Bella for a moment, and then I'll be on my way."

"Bella's not here," he informed me tersely. "It's a good thing, too. Something tells me she wouldn't want to speak to you anyway."

I smiled smugly, resisting the urge to correct his assumption, and added Bella to the list of things he knew nothing about. "I'll give you a modicum of respect because you're my elder and a police officer, but you're not going to keep me from her. She's been a very good friend to me, and until _she_ tells me to get lost, I'm going to be a part of her life, whether you like it or not."

"You call that respectful?" Mirth clear in his tone, his mustache twitched as he worked hard to keep it from his expression.

"I'd call it frank. Would you prefer I mislead you with lies or told you what I think you'd like to hear?"

He scowled at me. "Don't be a wiseass, son. It doesn't become you."

"Point taken, sir."

"Are you going to make me ask what happened to your hand?"

I was filled with a sudden dread, understanding that I'd underestimated Bella's father's abilities. He'd simply been biding his time.

"I'd rather not say."

"But it has to do with my daughter," he deadpanned.

"Why would you say that?" I asked, my voice way too high to make my attempt at nonchalance believable.

"You show up at my door uninvited attempting to hide a bandage the size of Texas. If that doesn't scream teenage angst, I don't know what does."

There was no point in lying now; he knew he was on the right track. Besides, it couldn't hurt to have the law on my side, assuming that would be the case once he understood the injury was a result of protecting Bella.

"Mike tried to hurt her again."

His face went white and his fingers gripped the can in his hand until it made a disturbing crunch noise. After a few quiet moments, he tipped the beer to his lips and took a long swig. "Thank you for your honesty," he finally replied, his voice scratchy and uneven.

"I wanted to tell Bella what happened."

His head cocked to one side and he looked over at me, doing his best to compose himself. "That's pretty ballsy showing up on the police chief's doorstep to admit you beat the crap out of someone."

"I figured if anyone might appreciate the gesture, it would be you."

He nodded, regarding me speculatively. "Am I going to hear about the details of this down at the station?"

"I don't think so. It happened in Port Angeles."

"I see. And everyone's seen a doctor?"

"Yes, sir. Nothing more permanent than a lesson taught."

He uttered a satisfied grunt and said, "I'll tell Bella you came by."

"I'd appreciate it if you could have her call me. I'd really like to explain things to her."

"Don't worry your head over it, boy. The less she knows, the better. Go on and get out of here."

I left feeling strangely relieved that Chief Swan knew the truth about the fight. I guess I'd never realized how much energy it took to keep things secret from people. Despite the rockiness of our conversation, he seemed reconciled about the altercation, if not supportive and appreciative of what I'd done. With his help, it would be easier than ever to keep Bella safe.

**~8~**

If Bella called, I never heard the phone. I went to bed early and passed out the moment my head hit the pillow, sleeping straight through the night and my alarm. A gentle tug on my shoulder from my neighbor, Mrs. Santiago, was what finally woke me. I blinked hard, trying to force my brain to work and remember why she was there.

"Edward, get up. You're late for school."

My eyes darted from Carmen's face, to the clock, and then to bottle of pills on the nightstand. As if on cue, my hand began to throb.

"Thanks Mrs. S. I'll get moving."

"Are you okay, son?" she asked softly, concern etched on her wrinkled face.

I raised my bandaged hand. "This? It's nothing, just a little horseplay with friends. Apparently I don't know my own strength."

"You should call your mom and tell her what happened. She'll be worried about you if she finds out you hid your injury." She stared at the bandage for a moment and _tsked_. "You have to be more careful. You won't be able to play the piano if you damage your hands."

"I promise to call my mom before I leave for school, and don't worry about my hand. It'll be as good as new before you know it. I'd better run if I'm going to make second period."

"I'll check in on you later. Tell you mother I said hello." She patted me gently on the shoulder and left.

I popped one of the pills for my hand. They weren't as strong as what the doctor had given me after my exam, but they would do fine for the throbbing and general discomfort. I raced through my shower, left a quick message for my mom, and rushed to school, arriving at the chemistry lab only moments before the bell. Jasper glanced at me sideways as I slid into my seat, a sly grin on his face.

"It sounds like you had a busy weekend," Jasper whispered, giving me a look that said he already knew too much. It was my fault for sleeping in. My plan was already askew.

"Not really," I replied, betting that he'd call me on my vagueness and offer up what he knew in return for my answer.

"Oh? You fuck up your hand every weekend?"

"I was helping a friend." I looked over at him and smiled, marginally excited to exercise some control over the gossip machine.

Jasper leaned across the lab table and whispered close to my ear. "Last time I checked, you don't beat someone up for a _friend_."

"What are you implying?"

"Don't worry, it's cool. Like last night when the waiter hit on Alice. I wasn't going to let him get away with it. Not that I beat him up or anything, but I sure as hell made it clear to lay off because she was taken."

"I thought you liked Bella," I offered, confused. "I saw you with her at the dance last Friday."

"She was helping to get Alice and me together. Bella's just a friend, and even if she weren't, she's totally off-limits anyway. I'd never go after another guy's girl."

"If she's not _your_ girlfriend, whose girlfriend is she?" I asked, feeling like an idiot for not knowing that Bella was seeing someone. He had to be wrong.

Jasper's eyes flashed to my hand and back to my face. "Like I said, you don't get into a fight for someone who's just a friend."

Suddenly what he was implying clicked. I had no idea how to respond, whether to confirm or deny or say anything at all. It was my worst nightmare coming true.

"If you ask me, it looks good on you, man," Jasper continued. "Mike had it coming."

I froze, completely horrified by his seemingly informed words. If he knew about what Mike had done to Bella, it was worse than my worst nightmare. I couldn't keep the graveness out of my tone. "How do you know that?"

"Mike was talking shit after he overheard Bella ask you to the dance. He's been after her for a dog's age, but I knew he didn't have a chance with you in the picture."

"You can't trust a word he says, you know that, right? He'd say anything to justify what he does." I felt like a complete hypocrite saying this, guilty of doing exactly what I was accusing Mike of doing.

"I know, right? He was trying to convince me that you were just trying to get into Bella's pants, and I told him he was full of shit. Mike doesn't know what he's talking about, man. I've seen the way you look at her."

I looked at him imploringly, needing him to believe me, wishing I could believe it myself. "It's not like that, Jasper."

"Really?"

I nodded. The way I felt about Bella couldn't get out. It just couldn't.

"It should be," he said with quiet conviction, turning away from me and opening his textbook, subtly leaving me to think about his suggestion.

I stewed for the rest of the class and the next, trying to sort out my thoughts.

As much as I wanted to blame the fight for exposing my feelings for Bella, I couldn't. Jasper figured out how I felt long before I'd punched Mike. I just wasn't sure how I'd been so transparent when I couldn't see what was going on myself. I'd never gone looking for any kind of emotional attachment to her, but it existed against all reason. And I had no idea what to do about it.

History had taught me that my friendship with Bella couldn't survive this. My feelings for her were what killed it the first time around. If I wanted to keep her in my life, and I did, she could never know how I felt about her.

The experiment was now the worst idea I'd ever had. Not only had it forced me to recognize that I cared for Bella, every new phase of the experiment would strengthen my bond to her and pull me deeper under. The smart thing to do was stay away from her, only I knew I couldn't do that. I'd already proven I couldn't resist her. The idea of staying away from her was as painful as what I would do to myself if I continued in the experiment. I was damned whether I did or didn't.

The fight with Mike seemed rather trivial now, considering the scope and gravity of the possibilities before me.

_I could lose Bella._

Even as an idea it was painful. As a reality, it would be unbearable.

But it was entirely possible.

Chances were good that I'd have my heart broken. It was arguably inevitable for every person, but the idea was foreign to me. Until recently, I'd never imagined having a bond that powerful with anyone.

And what about the experiment? If by some miracle I could persevere in what now seemed like an idiotic and potentially torturous thing to pursue, I stood to experience the most intense emotions known to the human condition, but to what end beyond ensuring my broken heart?

It seemed as if everything changed the moment I hit Mike, all because I didn't think of the consequences. That punch was now the single greatest catalyst in my life. It was irrelevant whether I was ready for the changes or not. They were upon me, and by association, Bella, too.

I couldn't ignore her presence in this since it was my fault she was involved at all. She'd never asked for my help or protection. I'd forced them both on her when I decided I knew better than she did and superseded her will. Despite my pure motives, my selfish impulses had landed her right in the middle of the mess I'd made, and I had to find a way to get her out of it. She trusted me, and I didn't want to betray that trust.

Clearly my original plan was flawed. People were already aware of the connection between us. Though few knew the extent of it, many would infer that we were a couple, just like Emmett and Jasper had.

Who would it hurt, if we let them think that?

Now that I'd had time to think, wanting to keep my feelings for Bella a secret was just another selfish impulse, and in this case, I needed to do better by her. When it came to how others would see us, there was really no difference whether it was as friends or more. I could offer myself up to the gossipmongers in an act of solidarity without telling Bella how I felt. That way she would see that my mistakes weren't intended to hurt her.

Letting people think we were involved seemed like the lesser of two evils if doing so allowed me to protect Bella's privacy in other ways. What happened with Mike would be seen as two guys fighting over a girl, and her secret would be safe. When we'd entered into our agreement, I'd given her my word to keep what was between us private. If I broke that promise to keep what Mike had done to her hidden, would she forgive me?

It's not as if anyone had to know the details of what went on between us. For all intents and purposes, we could appear as any other couple would, sharing lunches and carpooling to school. We got along well so it wouldn't be a stretch for us. We were friends, after all.

If 'couple' were our accepted relationship status, Bella would be safe from Mike's advances or those of any other interested party, for that matter. It was certainly an appealing and convenient side effect of propagating the lie.

The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of playing up my relationship with Bella.

All that mattered now was getting Bella to agree to it.

**BPOV**

I was a bit of a mess after Edward dropped me off Saturday afternoon, worrying and overanalyzing everything that had happened. Alice put an end to my self-induced misery by dragging my sorry ass to her house for a sleepover with Rose. It wasn't hard for her to guess that my sullen mood had to do with Edward, but she wouldn't allow me to wallow, despite my enthusiastic desire to do just that. She promised not to pester me for details as long as I tired to have fun, which as it turned out wasn't exactly difficult. Cheesecake, a movie, and time with my best friends were an irresistible trio.

The giggles and fun lasted until the wee hours of the morning, but once I was left to my thoughts, all of my doubts came flooding back. No matter how many times I reminded myself that Edward was into our voyeur activities that afternoon, I couldn't get past the feeling that I'd screwed up. Telling him he was wrong wasn't exactly a smart thing to do. I'm sure that hearing his perspective was skewed probably didn't sit well with him, given the fact that he was rather smug about his intelligence. I wanted that to be the reason for the strange regret I felt, a simple offense that was easily forgiven with an apology, but I knew better. Pointing out that our experiment was a replacement for the void of social interaction in his life was the glaring mistake I'd made, closely followed by putting him on the spot for an explanation of his appearance at the dance.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Rose whispered from her side of the room.

"Just having trouble sleeping," I mumbled, hoping to sound more tired than I felt.

"You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm not going to judge you."

I knew Rose cared about me, but we didn't confide in one another like Alice and I did. She wasn't your average, about-to-graduate, eighteen-year-old. Not only was her Hollywood movie star beauty intimidating, I'd never met a more self-assured person in all my life. She never doubted herself or the decisions she made, whereas I could barely choose a breakfast cereal, let alone make some of the enormous life decisions that stood before me. Unlike me, Rosalie had already chosen a college, a major, and had even arranged for a place to live: a little one-bedroom apartment that was off-campus but close enough to the action. It was perfect, just like she was.

That was Rosalie's life in a word: perfect. Her relationship with Emmett was the only thing I could remember not working out in her favor. Then again, maybe it had. He wanted her to stay in Forks and attend community college. When she refused, he broke up with her to make her see reason. What she actually saw was red, and Rosalie's anger was fuel for her stubbornness. She wouldn't give Emmett the time of day now, despite the fact that she still cared for him.

"You think I don't notice things, but I do," she went on.

"What are you talking about?" Did she know something? Had I slipped up somehow?

"I'm talking about the moony look you get when you see him, how you disappear for hours at a time or show up late so often, that's what. You seemed like you had something on your mind tonight."

"Was I that transparent?"

She ignored my attempt to deflect her observations. "What did Edward do?"

"Nothing he doesn't always do," I admitted.

She sat up and looked over at me. "I don't think you could have picked a more closed-off guy if you'd tried. Sure, he's hot and all, but he has the social skills of a gnat. You can't make conversation with a bug, Bella."

I stared at her face in shock, feeling like a moron for thinking I'd done such a good job at hiding my feelings, at least until she snickered and her grin spread slowly across her face. Then I laughed along with her. Not only was she absolutely right, on all fronts, but the fact that I thought I could hide my feelings from my two best friends was ridiculous.

We talked a little bit about the situation—my feelings, not the experiment. Despite my confusion and near desperation to get all of the secrets I was keeping off my chest, I couldn't disregard the deal I'd made with Edward to keep what we were doing on the down low. Surprisingly, Rose was almost sympathetic. She told me in no uncertain terms that she thought I was an idiot for falling for a guy that, in her words, 'didn't know the opposite sex existed,' but she understood that the heart wants what it wants, logic not necessarily included in the deal.

Her advice was simple: cease and desist. She felt that going after Edward was a waste of time since he wasn't looking for a relationship. In fact, she was fairly certain that I couldn't even get him to consider fooling around. Little did she know that _he_ was the one who asked _me_ to take it into consideration. She was a realist through and through, so she made a point of mentioning how hurt I was going to be if things didn't work out. To her, it was better to avoid something that had little chance of success in favor of something that could turn out better, especially when that something had the potential to break your heart. Of course, few of us had the options she had. She'd never wanted a guy who didn't want her back because _everyone_ wanted Rosalie. It was impossible for her to see that the experience might be worth the aftermath.

I didn't want to avoid him like she thought I should. When I explained that we'd become friends, she proceeded to point out that we had nothing in common, ran in different social circles, and would cease to have any contact once we went away to college. I couldn't deny those things were true, any more than I could tell her about how well he and I got along when we hung out. If I brought up the time we spent together outside of school, I'd have to explain what we filled that time with and I wasn't allowed to share that. So I led the conversation back to avoiding him and asked for her help. At least if she thought I was taking her advice, she might be willing to cut me some slack when I failed. Avoiding Edward at school wouldn't be hard since he'd made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me there.

**~8~**

Offering her moral support, Rosalie picked me up for school on Monday morning. I was tired and cranky from the lack of sleep on Saturday night and too much shopping on Sunday. By the time we returned from our retail therapy yesterday evening, Charlie had already left for work and Alice was almost late for her date with Jasper.

As soon as we got to school, Alice rushed to us with the news that Mike Newton had been in a fight. She didn't have many of the details but did offer an exceptionally grotesque description of injuries on his face. From the sound of things, he'd taken quite a beating. I felt a twinge of guilt for thinking that karma had finally caught up with him. No one deserved to be a victim, he no more than I.

I saw the damage for myself in gym later that morning, and, for once, Alice had not been exaggerating. The cuts around his mouth were child's play compared to the rest of his face. He had a long line of stitches below his left eye. At least I think it was his eye; it was so badly swollen that it was hard to believe his eye was actually under the hideously bruised bulge. His nose, which was never very handsome to begin with, now resembled the letter 'S,' the tip no longer centered and the bridge more or less unrecognizable.

With no study hall period scheduled in the time slot, Mike was forced to attend gym class, even thought he was too banged up to actually take part. I was just glad he was stuck in the bleachers because it meant I didn't have to interact with him. I wasn't ready to forgive him for Friday night, and judging by the sneer he leveled at me, he wasn't ready for it either.

On the way to English, I mentioned the dirty look he gave me to Alice. Lauren overheard my comment and rolled her eyes.

"As if you don't know why he's pissed off at you."

"Mind your own business, Lauren," Alice said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Don't protect her, Alice," Lauren went on. "You'd be mad, too, if you were beat up by her boyfriend." She looked directly at me while she spoke, making no attempt to disguise her scorn.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Lauren."

"Are you really going to play that card, Bella? The whole school is talking about what Edward did to Mike."

"Edward?" I asked incredulously. Lauren was a hateful, vindictive bitch, but this was low even for her. It just wasn't possible that Edward had anything to do with what happened to Mike.

"Yes Edward. It doesn't take a rocket surgeon to put two and two together to figure out why he did it."

Alice and I looked at each other and broke into a fit of laughter. Lauren lost her patience quickly, humphed, and stalked away.

"It's _rocket scientist_ or _brain surgeon_, dumbass," Alice yelled after her, still giggling at Lauren's stupidity.

We quickly agreed that she'd finally lost her mind and headed to our classes.

Things got even stranger in English. A couple of girls on the cheerleading squad were staring daggers at me, and Angela kept glancing at me with a sympathetic expression. I looked down at my outfit to make sure I was dressed properly and breathed into my cupped palm to check my breath. Maybe I had food in my teeth? I couldn't come up with a reason for the extra attention I'd somehow garnered, but I didn't like it.

By the time class finished, my mood had changed from slightly irritated to full on paranoid. It seemed like everyone was watching me, pointing and whispering about what I could only assume was some horrible faux pas that I'd committed. I bypassed the lunch line and plopped down at our table empty-handed. My stomach was too tied up in knots to think of eating.

"Here, you're going to need this," Alice whispered, sliding her lemonade to me.

"Life gave you lemons?" I joked half-heartedly, looking down at the bottle of yellow liquid. It seemed to be the only thing in the room that wasn't staring at me.

"Are you okay?" Rose's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I replied sarcastically. "What senior wouldn't want everyone at school gossiping behind her back? You know I love to be the center of attention."

"It will blow over in a few days," she assured me, patting my hand supportively.

"What will blow over? I was kidding about the gossiping." My friends regarded me cautiously but remained silent. "Am I being punk'd? Because I seem to be the only person who's noticed that Forks has turned into the Twilight Zone!"

"You really don't know, do you?" Alice whispered.

"Know what? That the whole school is acting weird, and I'm the only one not in on the joke."

"Lauren wasn't lying when she said Edward did something to Mike."

"Last I checked, kicking someone's ass in Call of Duty wasn't considered a serious matter."

"Look at Edward, Bella," Rose prompted.

I looked over at his table, not immediately noticing what Rose meant. He was eating by himself the way he did each and every day, but when he raised his hand to his mouth and his bandage came into view, her point was suddenly unmistakable.

There had to be a good explanation for his injury, and by good explanation I meant one that had nothing to do with the fight that had messed up Mike's face. Maybe he'd spilled something in the chemistry lab or the fallboard of his piano had inadvertently closed on his hand. Hell, I'd settle for a rogue chipmunk attack or an Ultimate Frisbee injury. Even a second-degree burn from an impromptu grilling competition with Bobby Flay seemed more logical. As hard as I tried to imagine it, it was simply inconceivable that Edward Cullen would beat someone to a bloody pulp.

Without thinking about what I was going to say, I was up on my feet and on my way to him.

"YOU…YOU…" I whisper-yelled. My confusion and disbelief mixed with accusation and failed to become anything but babbling.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his tone calm and patient.

"What happened to your hand?" I crossed my arms over my chest to at least appear in control.

"Nothing," he replied noncommittally, glancing at the bandage for a moment, as if he had to remind himself that his hand was injured.

"How did you do it?"

"Why don't you sit down, Bella. We could eat together, if you'd like?" He was acting every bit as strange as everyone else. Approaching him at school usually made him uncomfortable, and it most certainly did not buy me an invitation to lunch. Our entire relationship had been conducted behind closed doors _by choice_. The fact that he thought we should have lunch together felt not only weird but rather fraudulent.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why anything?" I retorted, feeling a little panicked. "Why sit down? Why have lunch together? Why are you talking to me at school when you expressly told me it makes you uncomfortable? And while I'm asking questions, why is your hand injured?"

"That's a lot of questions," he deadpanned, looking up at me with a blank expression. When I didn't respond, he went on. "Breathe, Bella. Or better yet, sit down and give me a moment to explain myself."

"Damn straight you're going to explain yourself," I muttered, reluctantly taking the seat across from him.

He leaned toward me so I could hear his quiet voice. I was somewhat comforted by the fact that I expected him to do this. "I take it you've heard some of the rumors floating around."

"Besides a lot of staring and one ginormous insinuation from Lauren, no, I haven't heard the rumors. Care to share?" I asked sarcastically, fully expecting he'd avoid my question.

"It's just that you were making it too easy on him. I was willing to look the other way at Christmastime because we'd only just become reacquainted. I didn't know your character or history, so I wasn't about to make assumptions. And you were in no shape to be left by yourself. Someone had to watch out for you."

"Wait, what?"

"Now we _are_ friends, and he didn't learn a thing. Not only is he arrogant, he's stupid. Everyone knows that a criminal should never revisit the scene of a crime. You were giving him kindness he didn't deserve. I had to protect you."

He waited for me to respond, but I simply couldn't. I was stupefied, beyond words or actions, beyond all rational thought.

"A normal person would have learned his lesson in December. Obviously, I gave him too much credit in thinking he'd understand the implicit message in my actions that night; what he did at the dance proves that. I couldn't stand the thought of what might have happened if I hadn't been there… if he were to try again. There was no choice but to make him see the only way an asshole like Mike sees anything."

"Violence?" I squeaked, unable to reconcile the word with Edward's gentle soul.

"I would have settled for police involvement, but you didn't want to press charges, and I had no recourse, since I wasn't directly involved. I looked into it. For the life of me I can't figure out why you'd allow Mike to get away with this sort of behavior. Not once but twice, Bella. I think you've lost sight of the fact that what he did to you was not your fault."

I looked down at the table, feeling terribly guilt-ridden for my role in Mike's injuries. "If you did this to protect me, then what happened to him _is_ my fault."

"Don't be so illogical. He got what he deserved based on _his_ actions, not anything you did. It was my decision to go after him, and it was made exclusive of your feelings on the matter."

He'd gone out on a limb to protect me, and I should have felt grateful, but all I felt was confused. "So that's what people are whispering about? What he did to me?"

"Actually, no. People seem far more interested in what's going on between you and me than about Mike being a scumbag."

"That's why I didn't want to press charges," I explained, my stomach roiling turbulently. "I knew that if your involvement came to light, people would be talking about you… and… us." I didn't want to lose him over this. Edward was so much more important to me than seeking retribution for what Mike had tried to do to me.

"Do you really think I care what people say about me? It can't be any worse than what's already been said. I learned a long time ago that the only opinion that matters is mine."

"But people will know we're friends."

He shrugged, taking a moment to think before he elaborated. "We live in a small town. People were bound to find out we've been spending time together. Now we don't have to hide it."

"I thought you wanted to hide it."

I waited for him to answer me, trying to understand the intensity in his stare, but I couldn't figure it out. After a moment he cleared his throat, the strained sound forced out as an awkward cough. "I did what I thought was right, Bella. I'm not ashamed of it, nor do I have any regrets. If you don't want to hang around with me at school, that's your prerogative. I know it wasn't part of our deal."

How had I gotten to this place? I thought back to the afternoon in the school parking lot when I told Edward I wanted us to be friends. He'd been so reluctant to give me a chance. The tables were turned now, and the change in him was so out-of-character that I found it hard to trust his motivation. Regardless, he was still Edward, so I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"We're friends first, right?"

He nodded and began picking at the piece of pizza in front of him. The congealed cheese made it look rather unappetizing, so I couldn't blame him for his lack of enthusiasm. I watched his fingers work, not knowing what to say to breach the air of awkward discomfort that quickly enveloped us. It didn't help that half of the cafeteria was openly watching us while the other half pretended not to be. Before long, it felt like the walls were closing in on me.

"We're not doing anything wrong, Bella," he said quietly. "The attention will blow over quickly."

"How did you know the staring was still bothering me?"

"Your posture; it's resembles mine when I'm in an uncomfortable situation."

I noted that his posture was currently unaffected, and I had no explanation for why he seemed so comfortable. "How do you know you're not the problem?" I joked.

"When I'm the problem, you won't look me in the eyes when you speak." He didn't look up from his food to reply, like it was all so matter-of-fact that it didn't require his attention

The precision of his observations was bewildering, and I'm sure shock registered on my face.

"It sounds like you have me figured out," I mumbled, trying to remember how people knew they were in the Twilight Zone. Something about a middle ground between light and shadow, or was it science and superstition? Either way, something weird was happening.

"Quite the contrary, but I'm learning." A tiny smile played at the corners of his lips, hinting at some thought or emotion that I couldn't identify. It was as much a mystery to me as the change in Edward was. I was at a loss.

When the bell rang to signal that lunch was over, I quickly got up. Edward stood up, too, grabbing his tray and following me to the door. For a moment, I wondered if he was going to walk me to class. I half expected Rod Serling's voice to start narrating my life: "You're about to meet Bella. A mild-mannered girl, age seventeen, on the verge of being given everything she's ever wanted but afraid to wake up and find out it's all been a dream." Edward's question pulled me out of Rod's voiceover.

"What do you say?"

"Say to what?" I asked, feeling my cheeks ignite.

"Can I drive you home after school?"

Stunned, I blinked at him. How did he know I needed a ride? And how could he be so calm when ten kids could have easily heard his question? For that matter, where was Rod's voice with his insightful little summary when I needed his guidance?

He leaned into me and whispered, "It's just a ride, Bella."

"Sure," I murmured, feeling like I was having some kind of out-of-body experience. This wasn't really happening, was it?

"I'll meet you at my car after school then."

He smiled and left. I stood there with my mouth open, waiting for some confirmation that I wasn't dreaming. Slowly I began to register the noise around me, noticing the people filing past me, and I realized I didn't want to know. If this was I dream, I wanted it. I wanted it so badly I could taste it.

Rod's voice started up, better late than never.

_They say a dream takes only a second or so, and yet in that second a man can live a lifetime. He can suffer and die, and who's to say which is the greater reality: the one we know or the one in dreams, between heaven, the sky, the earth in the Twilight Zone_*.

As I walked to class, I tried to calm down before my brain got ahead of itself, but it was futile. I was already considering the possibility that Edward liked me back, and my mind was beginning to fill in the blanks with an imagined future that wasn't mine.

I was fucked.

Maybe.

* * *

**A/N**: The passage above marked with this symbol "*" is from _The Twilight Zone, Perchance to Dream_, Episode 1.9, 1959.

Overthink much? Analysisward has surfaced.;) Do you think it was good for him to analyze everything so deeply or was did it just confuse the issues for him? Did he make the right choice to go public or should he have denied everything?

How do we feel about the Edward's conversation with Charlie? Or about Charlie, for that matter?

Did Jasper's observations surprise you?

I'm happy I finally had the chance to include some Rosalie. What do you think about her advice to Bella to stay away from Edward?

And last but certainly not least, how do you feel about the conversation between Edward and Bella. Is he finally going to admit his feelings to her?


	17. The Status Quo

_DISCLAIMER_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The remainder of the words, plot and lackluster formatting belong to me.

Thank you to my betas **Scorp112** & **LightStarDusting** for all their support and advice. And thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing.

* * *

**Chapter 17: The Status Quo**

"Everything is in a state of flux, including the status quo." ~ _Robert Byrne_

**EPOV**

My talk with Bella didn't go exactly as I'd planned, but it turned out fine. She didn't reject my lunch invitation or ignore me. I don't think she could have even been considered angry, maybe stubborn or upset, but not mad.

I'd tried to wave her over to my table as soon as she'd walked into the cafeteria, but she didn't look my way. That kind of threw off my whole plan. As I sat there trying to re-formulate it, she was suddenly beside me, and I'd forgotten everything I'd planned to say. The words bubbled up out of nowhere, sounding more like verbal diarrhea than the well thought out position I'd prepared. Instead of explaining how I'd screwed up and proposing my fix, I got stuck on why I'd hit Mike, something she understood better than anyone else.

As I'd suspected, she was concerned that people were talking about what he'd done to her, and I made sure she knew they were actually talking about us. Instead of calming her fears, the news set her off all over again. In a classic case of transference, she redirected her frustration with the general situation at me, pressing me about how I would feel if people knew we were hanging out. I wanted to say more; I really did, but the middle of the cafeteria was not the place to have that conversation. Her upset was more than obvious, despite my reassurances. I could see it in the slump of her shoulders and her drawn mouth. Getting through to her would have to wait until the end of the school day. At least I'd have more privacy to explain myself when I drove her home.

**~8~**

I absent-mindedly tapped the beat of the radio's song on the steering wheel as I impatiently waited for Bella to arrive. Eventually I saw her peeking out from the windows of the double doors by the gym. Her eyes darted around the area in search of something. Seemingly satisfied by what she saw, she opened the door a crack and stuck her head out, looking from side-to-side. Her behavior was rather ridiculous given that I was in her direct sightline and she had yet to make eye contact with me. I honked to get her attention, thinking she'd somehow managed to miss that my Volvo was the only car in the entire parking lot, and earned a scowl from her. She rushed out of the building, run-walking to my car, and jumped in suspiciously.

"What is with you?" she demanded, glaring at me with her eyebrows knit together.

"With _me_? You're the one whispering, looking around, and hurrying. Did something happen? Mike didn't try anything, did he?"

"Of course not. I just… well, I… I mean…"

"Spit it out, Bella."

"I just don't want anyone to see us, okay?" Her voice was a mix of harshness and embarrassment. Part of her demeanor matched the blush on her cheeks, but I didn't understand the edge to her tone.

Hoping she didn't mean her words with the acridity they were delivered, I let logic prevail. "And why would that be?"

"Will you just drive? Please!" She looked out the window, checking nervously over her shoulder.

I pulled out of the lot without another word, hoping if I did as she asked that she might relax enough to let her guard down and talk to me. I couldn't imagine what was bothering her.

Instead of taking her home, I drove to the park near her house. The chances that we'd be disturbed there were substantially lower than if we went anywhere more public. I was determined to have this conversation, even if she felt contrarily. Once I parked the car, I asked her about her comment again.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Do you really need an answer?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the window.

I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder, trying to separate her from whatever worry was consuming her, in a way that didn't involve words. She tensed and shrugged, closing her eyes as if I'd caused her pain. I pulled back, folding my hands into my lap, and looked down.

"Is it the gossiping? Because that won't last. People will get used to seeing us together and forget there was ever a time that we weren't friends."

She didn't respond in any way. Not even a nod. So I went on. "Did I do something? Please tell me, if I did. You know I don't know the first thing about being a good friend."

I watched her eyes study the playground equipment in the distance, tracing the squares of the jungle gym in a non-sequential pattern. She was working hard to keep her expression blank, but I could sense the upset she was hiding.

"Have you reconsidered the experiment?" I quietly asked. There was a chance that she simply wasn't comfortable telling me what I'd done. Or maybe what I'd done was too big—a deal breaker—and she was no longer at ease around me.

She remained silent.

I had only two choices: wait her out or give up. Hoping I wasn't pushing my luck, I chose the first, because giving up was unfathomable.

The sun sank lower on the horizon while the wind whipped around us, hurling dead leaves and whistling past the windows. Every moment of silence was defeating, dragging on endlessly only to meet with the next. I was stuck in a state of suspended animation. If not for the feel of my pulse in my ears, I might have been convinced I was dreaming.

When the last rays of sunshine disappeared below the horizon, I surrendered to the inevitable. She wasn't going to talk to me, and I was wasting her time and mine by waiting for her to do so.

Somewhere between putting the car in reverse and arriving in her driveway, she started to cry. Though I wanted to comfort her, I didn't dare. She'd already shown me exactly how much she didn't want me to touch her. I was helpless, utterly inept in every way.

"I just wanted to protect you," I started, my voice cracking under the tension I felt. "But it was incredibly stupid of me not to realize what I did might be tied to you. I thought it would be simpler to let them think we were together than allow them to dig deeper into the situation with Mike, even though I knew it went against our agreement. Just know that I never meant to hurt you or make you do anything you didn't want to do."

I watched tears stream down her face, selfishly wishing she'd get out of the car so I wouldn't have to witness her sorrow. The silence was maddening enough, but it paled in comparison to how dire her sadness made me feel, knowing the blame for it was entirely mine.

A few minutes passed, and I wasn't sure how much more I could take. I was on the verge of making an excuse so I could leave when she finally spoke, her voice so quiet it was barely decipherable.

"I don't want to lose you over this."

Her admission sucked all of the oxygen out of my lungs, and I sat dumbstruck for a few moments, trying to string together words that didn't sound like an accusation or censure. Had she not heard a word I'd said?

"You can say what they think doesn't matter, but that's just not true. If it were, we could have hung out at school from the very beginning. It matters, Edward, just like it'll matter when the truth comes out. It'll be your worst nightmare come to life, and I'll lose you all over again."

"Staying away from you had to do with _my_ hang-ups, not _you_. You have to understand, I'm used to being by myself. I like being alone or I-"

"Which is exactly why going public to combat gossip is a bad idea. If you did it because you wanted to, that's one thing, but you're putting yourself under a lot of pressure to thwart rumors that have nothing to do with you. What if it's too much?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "What am I saying? You know it's going to be too much! You're _you_, Edward: hater of social situations, avoider of connections of any kind. I had to watch you pull away once. I'm not sure I can do it again." She choked the last few words out, covering her face with her hands as a fresh round of tears started.

"If there were an award for handling every situation wrong, the lifetime achievement would be all mine," I grumbled under my breath, frustrated and angry with myself. "Look, this is my fault. I shouldn't have touched Mike without talking to you, and I should have found a way to speak to you about it last night. I swear I tried to do the right thing as soon as I'd realized what I'd done." Not knowing what else to do, I patted her knee, hoping against hope the gesture would somehow soothe her.

"You're wrong; it's my fault for not pressing charges. If I had, then you wouldn't have had to fight my battles for me, and you wouldn't feel forced to hang out with me to keep my secrets."

"I don't feel forced, Bella. I'm actually looking forward to hanging around with you more."

"You are?"

When she looked into my eyes for the first time since lunch, it felt like I could finally breathe again. I was too tired to acknowledge the gravity of the feeling, fearing it would send me into a panic all over again, so I pushed it away. I needed one moment where I wasn't worried about why I felt a certain way.

"You said it yourself: we're friends first. Why shouldn't we be able to act that way?"

She gave a small smile, which I was grateful for, even though it slipped from her lips too quickly for my liking.

"Is there something else bothering you?"

"No." She hesitated, turning away from my gaze. "Not really."

"It's better to get it all out in the open," I advised hypocritically. My justification for keeping my own secrets was weak, but unlike her, I was in control of my emotions. Since she wasn't, I'd rather she get whatever it was off her chest so we could clear the air between us, once and for all.

"I think, after lunch and everything else, I just got ahead of myself, and I just… well, I'm feeling overwhelmed."

"That's understandable… but we're okay, right?" I asked, needing the confirmation to quiet my doubts.

She sniffled a few times and dried her cheeks with the backs of her hands, taking a few moments to compose herself before she answered me. "Yeah, we're fine. It's gonna be weird for a while though, you know? People are going to be expecting to see us together. I'm not sure I'm ready to be watched twenty-four, seven." She laughed weakly, poorly disguising her dread.

"Don't let other's expectations warp your perspective. It's still just you and me in this…" I awkwardly pointed back and forth between us, searching for a word to describe our situation that I was comfortable using. "Well, this friendship or experiment or whatever this is."

"We could always coin our own term. How about experiship or friendiment?" she offered, a soft giggle bubbling out of her.

I despised portmanteaus. Ours wasn't an experimental friendship or a friendship experiment. Better she'd called it a sexperiment; at least the term more closely approximated what we were doing. Somewhere in the English language a word existed that would perfectly describe our relationship, even if I didn't know what it was. It certainly wasn't the bastardization of two inferior terms that, when combined, meant less than either on its own.

"I thought you said the labels between us didn't matter."

A blush exploded on her cheeks at my words. "Touché."

While I'd meant to use her words against her, I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable again. It was better to end the afternoon while things were still positive between us. "So I'll pick you up tomorrow morning around eight?"

"You were serious about that?"

"Sure. Let's give them something to talk about," I joked, making light of her reference to being watched. I wanted her to understand that everything would be okay. The change in the way people saw or treated us was only temporary.

"Closet Bonnie Raitt fan, are you?"

"Who?"

She laughed at some inside joke I didn't understand. "Never mind. Eight is fine, and don't be late. We wouldn't want to keep our adoring fans waiting."

I waited for her to get inside before I drove away, just to make sure she was safe.

**~8~**

It was easy to adjust to our new routine. I actually enjoyed chauffeuring Bella. It gave me something to look forward to that didn't involve schoolwork or music. She always had a smile or an encouraging word for me. It was comforting to know that no matter how poorly my day might go, I had an ally waiting for me at the end of it.

Even though our lunches were often rather short on conversation, it was still nice to share the silence with someone. When we were around others, especially when we sat at her friends' table in the cafeteria, she was quietly observant and generally introverted. I wondered whether she was normally like that with them or if my presence had altered her behavior. She wasn't like that when it was just the two of us. She was her normal jovial and talkative self.

The most unexpected part of our new arrangement was the change in me. The more time I spent with Bella, the calmer I felt. It was a relief to see her at regular intervals, to know when, where, and how much time we'd spend together. I didn't have to wonder if she was okay; I could see for myself that she was safe and happy. Consequently, the roller coaster emotions of the last few weeks were gone—a welcomed absence—and I found myself on a much more even keel. I was content, going with the flow of things for the first time in my life, and I had no desire to rock the boat.

I'd learned from my mistake. I wouldn't take the chance of alienating Bella again by going over her head or overriding her ideas. I stood behind what I'd done to Mike but not the manner I'd done it. It took seeing Bella crying in my car to understand just how intensely she was affected. I never wanted to see her cry like that again, and I certainly never wanted to be the cause of it.

The new balance that we'd achieved at school came at the expense of our time outside of school. We still hadn't found an opportunity to discuss our latest experimental activity, and there was a part of me that would be happy if we never did. I wasn't particularly anxious to relive what had happened to me in the bathroom that afternoon, and I had no clue how to explain it to Bella without admitting what I'd realized. The separation from that day had quelled the intensity of what I'd felt watching her, thank goodness. I'd made peace with my feelings for her the best I could. They existed, and despite my wishes otherwise, in my eyes they changed the experiment and our relationship. I was, however, determined that they would not ruin our friendship.

The fact that Bella hadn't brought up the experiment since that afternoon made me wonder if it was dead in the water. I had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, it meant that I wouldn't have to deal with feeling exposed or worry about whether I could hide how I felt about her. On the other, I no longer had a justification to touch her. If Bella didn't want to experiment with me, it was improbable that she would be interested in a relationship with me. To be fair, I wasn't sure that I wanted something that real either. The instability of our friendship was challenging enough. Trying to manage something more intimate seemed almost insurmountable.

Most of the time I refused to think about it, holding on to the hope that the experiment was just stalled.

The upside of a delay was that it was easier to ignore my feelings for her because I wasn't thinking about touching her. There was something to be said for the status quo; our relationship was effortless. It was a pleasure to spend time with her.

Downtime became my enemy. She was frequently in my thoughts, and my mind progressed down a natural path past what we'd done to things I wanted to explore with her. It was as enthralling as it was confusing.

I thought about something as simple as kissing her, curious whether it would feel different now that I'd acknowledged my feelings. Would it be more intimate? More intense? Could it rival how I felt watching her touch herself or even surpass it? I wanted to experience that intensity again to determine if it was a one-time thing, to learn how it could amplify, wane, and change the interactions between us.

My mind didn't stop at kissing. I'd made a list of places on her body that I wanted to touch. The fact that I was unsure and nervous about actually doing it didn't stop my brain from imagining. It was no longer just to experience the acts or learn about how the female body worked. It was a deeper curiosity about what it would be like to experience these things with Bella.

Logically I knew that performing such intimate acts would emotionally and psychologically complicate things for me, and because of that, I should have been balking at the experiment. The fact that I still wanted to move forward knowing this made little sense to me. The situation was endlessly confusing to me, missing some key element that prevented me from reaching a full understanding of the matter.

Maybe that's why I appreciated the status quo the way I did. There was no awkwardness in it. I felt a secure sense of belonging within its confines. I didn't have to worry about what had been or what was to come, and just enjoyed our time together for what it was.

It wasn't that I was calm and happy all the time. I had bouts of doubt and desperation. Sometimes I thought I'd go mad if I didn't get to touch her again. In those moments, I reminded myself of one simple, powerful truth: what happened between us was beyond my control. The experiment's ultimate goal may have been set by me, but every step from beginning to end belonged to Bella; her agenda, at her pace. I wouldn't dream of pushing her into anything she wasn't comfortable with, especially after the fallout from hitting Mike. She would come to me if and when she was ready for things to move forward. Until then, out of respect, I was patiently content in the status quo.

**BPOV**

I don't remember much after Edward's offer to drive me home, like how I got to my first class after lunch or my others, for that matter. I was lost in a bemused dream state that had quickly become my happy place. Not only did Edward have feelings for me there, he wasn't afraid to show them. I'd perused many delicious possibilities in my head by the time Emmett McCarty sidled up next to me on the way to my last class.

"Hey there, Bella-You-Smella," he crooned quietly, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me down the hallway with him.

"Hey, Em."

"What, no nickname? No Chem-Em or my personal favorite, Em-phlegm?

"You're only Chem-Em in chemistry, and I was always kind of partial to Semi-Emmy."

He snorted and ruffled my hair. "Only because Rosalie has a big mouth and liked my-"

"Enough!" I insisted, plugging my ears to show him just how much I wanted to avoid hearing the rest of his comment. "What can I do for you, big guy?"

"Do I need a reason to check on you?" His teasing tone was just a put on. His face was deadly serious.

"You know about what Edward did, don't you?" I hedged.

"I was there. I… helped." He proceeded to spill everything, starting with Edward's request for help during his calculus tutoring and ending with the drive home from Port Angeles. I resisted the urge to panic, hating that he knew the truth about Mike but comforted that he'd had Edward's back. The details left me dumbstruck, in particular how out of control Edward had become when fighting Mike. It was hard to imagine him that far gone.

"Why exactly are you telling me all of this?" I was completely missing his point and laughed to hide my confusion.

"I just want you to be careful with him, is all."

"You want _me_ to be careful with _Edward_?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, he's a good guy, a little strange at times, but his heart is in the right place. I told him he should absolutely go for it with you."

"Oh, God, you didn't." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to ward off the sick feeling in my stomach.

"Of course I did. I'd much rather see you with an upstanding guy like Edward than the butthead we beat up."

"Mike is… just no! And things aren't like that with Edward." The idea was already there, pushing hope through my veins like a drug. With the self-control of an addict, I let the words slip out. "Wait, did Edward say they were?"

"Nah, he seemed really against the idea, to be honest. He was kind of loco about it, in fact."

_Of course he was against it, stupid girl_.

I frowned and then quickly rearranged my expression to feign indifference. "Yeah, he can get pretty intense."

"This was like a whole other level, especially for him. I've never seen him adamant. Personally, I don't know what his problem is. You, my friend, are incredibly hot. He'd be lucky to have you, but if he's leaving you on the market, that's more for the rest of us."

Emmett and I had been friends forever. It was strange to hear him actually acknowledge that I was a girl, let alone be complimentary about it. "Thanks. It's too bad Rosalie snagged you first. You and I would have made a hell of a team," I teased.

"Does she ever mention me?" he asked suddenly, his tone void of the cockiness it regularly held.

"Em…"

"What? It's no different than you asking what Edward said about you."

He was right in his own candid, fucked up way, except that what he had with Rosalie was real, a connection between the two of them that lived and breathed. Inserting myself into the middle of it felt disrespectful. Edward and I were nothing but microbes in a Petri dish, independently capitalizing on an opportunity provided by the situation.

"It's not the same. You and Rose cared about each other. You said yourself that you don't think Edward's interested in me."

"Are you interested in him?"

"He's against the idea, so what does it matter?"

"I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"Too late." I smiled sadly and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. "I've gotta go before I'm late for class."

Emmett could see that I was in over my head without knowing any of the details. His attitude about my chances with Edward echoed everything Edward had ever said and done. The naïve hope from lunch collapsed, and the shame of knowing better had its way with me, gutting me until I was an empty shell.

One thing was crystal clear: I couldn't be a part of the experiment in front of people. The secrecy helped to hide the truth. At least behind closed doors no one but me would see that Edward didn't care.

The insulting assumptions Jessica made about me in last period were the cherry on top of my shitty day. I didn't have the will to defend myself and knew there was really no point in trying. I took to watching the clock, anxious for the bell and the end of pretending that I was okay. I most certainly wasn't. I just wanted to go home, curl up in a ball, and give up.

When class finished, I escaped to the bathroom. I was at my breaking point, unable to handle another snide remark or nosy gawk without falling apart. The sound of footsteps made me hold my breath. Fragile and overwhelmed, I dashed into a stall to hide. Tears threatened so I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling to keep them from spilling, too stubborn to allow them to fall. This would not break me. I wouldn't—couldn't—allow it.

Edward's ability to deal with the unwanted attention on us scared me as much as it surprised me. His tendency to internalize the way he felt about things could be disastrous, if he were actually feeling like I was about the gossiping. If it built up on him and got to be too much, he would shut down and pull away from me, maybe even permanently. Going public just wasn't worth the risk.

Part of me wanted to convince him to keep things between us a secret. I just couldn't decide whether I was being selfish or afraid to be out of my comfort zone. He seemed happy enough that we didn't have to hide our friendship anymore, but I couldn't shake the doubt that he was hiding something from me. This was a big change for him, and he never did things without a reason. To have faith in his choice, I had to know what was behind his decision. Until then, it would be hard to trust his motives.

By the time my eyes were dry and back to normal, the school had emptied out. That didn't stop me from checking carefully before I left the stall, the bathroom, or even the building.

I was feeling raw and exposed—vulnerable to my very core—and I should have known better than to speak honestly to Edward when he asked why I was acting strange.

He was my breaking point.

I lashed out at him rather than explain why I didn't want people to see us together. I should have taken the words back as soon as they left my lips. Instead I let the guilt for uttering them take me further under, struggling with my desire to keep what I had with Edward behind closed doors and being honest about my fears.

When he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder to console me, I was too afraid to let my guard down and shook it off. I wanted his comfort so badly that I was ashamed of myself, but if I accepted it, I knew I'd fall apart.

I sat in silence and choked on the words that came up as he offered me excuses to explain my behavior. I couldn't trust myself to speak without breaking down. It wasn't just the gossiping, what he'd done, or the experiment; it was all three. It was how they fit together and what they said about me.

Again and again I counted and breathed deeply, searching for the calm that eluded me. The longer the silence stretched on, the harder it was to break. There was no logic to my thoughts or feelings, and the feeble words of explanation crumbled before they reached my lips.

The moment his hand moved, faltering once then again as he reached for the gearshift, I knew what it meant. He was done. Done with our non-talk, our experiment, me; it didn't matter which. They all felt the same, and I deserved it. He was clueless and had given me more than my share of his patience. My silence was as bad as my half-thoughts or illogical ramblings would have been. From his perspective, it might have been worse.

Without meaning to, I'd made matters worse and for nothing. The tears came anyway. When he noticed, he offered an explanation for his behavior over the last few days. I understood why he'd done things his way, but I needed him to know why I was so dead set against it: I didn't want to lose him. In spite of his claim that he didn't care what others thought, on some level it mattered to him. Otherwise, we would have been hanging out ever since I'd asked him to be my friend.

I knew he preferred to be by himself; I'd always known. The reminder made me feel stupid all over again for thinking that I could break into his intentionally isolated existence.

He turned the tables on me when he tried to take the blame for the state of things between us. I just couldn't let him do it. I was the one who'd taken the coward's way out by not pressing charges. I'd allowed my father's doubts to make me feel responsible for what Mike had done to me. The only thing I'd accomplished by ignoring Mike's behavior was to set myself up for a repeat performance. It was because of me that Edward felt forced to fight my battles and hang around with me at school to protect my reputation. He was a good friend; I was the one faltering in that department.

I felt like I didn't deserve his kindness when he told me he was looking forward to hanging out with me. Part of me still doubted him. His choice was at odds with everything I knew about him. Instead of focusing on that, I decided to take him at his word and look at going public as an opportunity to do something for him, to give him something he seemed to want. Getting used to the staring and gossiping would be hard, but I wanted to try to be the kind of friend he deserved.

School was strange; there was no two ways about it. My friendship with Edward was on full display for everyone's scrutiny, and it was a place I _never_ thought I'd find myself. I constantly worried that people could tell I had feelings for him. There were times I felt so obvious that it must have been written all over my face. I found myself second guessing every response to him, checking and rechecking my tells to perfect my poker face.

Alice and Rosalie were wonderful. Alice invited Edward to have lunch with us and did her best to include him in the conversation. Rosalie wasn't exactly warm to him, but her sacrifice was no less sincere. When Eric Yorkie made a smart-assed remark about Edward's presence at our table, she put him in his place with the ferocity of a lioness protecting her young. Eric didn't know what hit him, and while I doubted that Edward understood the gesture for what it was, I knew it was her way of making it clear that he was welcome to sit with us.

Most days we ate by ourselves. Lunches were quiet. He didn't talk a lot, and I talked even less. Even after the staring died down and most people had accepted our friendship, I still felt more comfortable with my guard up. I was protecting him as much as myself. All it would take was one wrong move—a laugh-snort or goo-goo eyes—for someone to get in his face about me. I didn't want him to have to deal with any negativity as a result of something I'd done.

Lunch was our only contact at school. We didn't walk together in the halls or speak between classes. The last thing he did each time we were together was make arrangements for the next time we'd meet up; mornings and after school, too. I figured the separation was his way of dealing with our overexposure.

Our drives to and from school were my favorite parts of each day. It was the only time where I could truly be myself around him without worrying about who might be watching.

He didn't bring up the experiment, and it didn't feel right to push him, at least not at first. We weren't spending any time together outside of our new school routine, and after a couple of weeks, I found myself getting antsy. The subtle hints I dropped fell on deaf ears. He seemed content to coexist in this bizarre version of our former relationship.

I started to watch him even closer, trying to decide for myself whether he was ready to get back to our experiment. The downside of my pursuit was that it made me hyperaware of how many ways I was attracted to him, making me all the more anxious to pick up where we'd left off. I began dreaming up scenarios using triggers from our past that might force the issue; things like my red bikini or walking away from him that had compelled a physical reaction from him. The problem was that I needed him outside of school to use any of them, and I couldn't seem to make that happen.

I asked him to come over a couple different times. The first invitation coincided with his mother's trip home, and my father got in the way the second time. Edward made no attempt to reciprocate my invites. I was beginning to think he might be done with the experiment. In three weeks time I'd gone from thinking I'd lose my virginity to him, to wondering if I'd ever get to touch him again.

I hated the direction we seemed to be moving in and couldn't accept it without a fight. I had to at least try to do something about it.

All along we'd discussed each step before and after we did it. It felt like I could afford to do that now. He'd had plenty of time since our last undertaking to figure out things on his end. Either he'd made peace with what had happened or decided he'd had enough. If the latter was the case, then I had one chance to reengage him. Whatever I chose had to be big and of the no-regrets variety. If ever a situation required my all, this was it.

To make something happen, I had to get him alone. Inviting him to my house left the decision up to him and was too passive for my liking. I had to go to him. Once I was there, I couldn't take no for an answer. I wasn't going to force the situation or myself on him, but I wanted him to be certain that I was ready to take the next step.

On Friday, I fished for details about his weekend. Aside from some tutoring with Emmett on Sunday afternoon, his weekend was pretty wide open.

"Do you ever go to Seattle to visit your mom, or does she always come to you?" I asked, curious if his mother might be part of his weekend plans.

"She doesn't like me traveling during the school year, but I go in the summer sometimes. And I never miss the homecoming concert."

"What's that?"

"The first concert back in Seattle after the winter tour is over. There's nothing like the enthusiasm of musicians that have finally come home after so many months away. They pour all their relief into the music, and the results are breathtaking. You should come with me this year, I mean, if you'd like to… if you're interested in that sort of thing."

"Would it be okay if I came?" I asked, caught off guard by his unexpected invitation. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of you and your mom. I know you don't get to spend as much time with her as you'd like."

"She's pretty busy that weekend, so I don't really get to spend that much time with her. We usually go to lunch, but you'd be more than welcome to come along. I'd like you to meet her."

"Really?" I was surprised to hear that he wanted me to meet his mom but quickly tamped down the hope that bloomed in the pit of my stomach. The introduction had nothing to do with any special place I held in his life and everything to do with the fact that he was proud of her. Knowing this didn't prevent me from feeling disappointed that the traditional meaning was completely absent.

"We're not at all alike; she's wonderful with people. You'll feel like you've known her your whole life after just a few minutes with her, or so I'm told."

"I've never been to the symphony," I admitted quietly, mulling over the idea. Charlie would be my greatest obstacle. Without parental supervision, he wasn't likely to agree to let me go.

"Well, think about it. I'll go ahead and arrange things with my mother, and if you can make it, great. It would be nice to have someone to share the music with."

I smiled in response, wondering if he'd feel the same way once tomorrow was over with. He'd just confirmed that his Saturday was empty, and I had every intention of filling it up.

* * *

**A/N:** Edward hates portmanteaus and thinks a word exists somewhere in the English language to perfectly describe their relationship. Does anyone have an idea what that might be? ::giggles:: ;)

How do you feel our dear Cluelessward is doing with coming to terms with his feelings? Want to kill him for not being honest or for hiding his feelings from Bella? Do you think he's doing as good a job hiding his feelings as he does?

Do you think Emmett did the right thing by coming clean with Bella or should he have kept his opinions to himself?

Did you think Bella had lost her marbles before you read her POV? Is she going about things the wrong way with respect to the experiment? Any idea what she's got planned?

Let me know what you think. Click the review button and tell me!


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